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THE 


MONTHLY  REVIEW, 


FROM 


SEPTEMBER  TO  DECEMBER  INCLUSIVE. 


1834. 


VOL.  III. 

NEW   AND   IMPROVED    SERIES. 


LONDON: 
G.  HENDERSON,    2,    OLD   BAILEY, 

LXTDGATS*HILL« 
1834. 


J.    HBNOfiRSOX,  PRINTER, 


WHITB-FRTARI. 


ERRATA. 
Page  43,  line  17.  for  ascend  read  ascended 

45  y    —     I  ^  fov  vchichTtHd  on  icMch 

_  85,    —    7,  from  the  bottom,  for  T"  **he  read  '» *'  7%r 

_279,    6,  for  iiM/mcrion;  on  this  side  qf  the  channel  Dear^  read  constfuctioA  on  this 

side  of  the  channel;  '*  Dear 

279,    —  11,  for  themseltes,  read  themselves.''^ 

Q88,    —  29,  for  being  Jamie  read  Xeein'  Jamie 

—  293,   —  27,  for  Kepltn  read  Kepler, 


CONTENTS 


OP  THE 


MONTHLY  REVIEW  FOR  OCTOBER. 


VoL  III.  (1834)  No.  II. 


■>      •  ■• 


PAGE 

Art.  I.  The  Angler  k  Wales,  or  Days  and  Nights  of  Sportsmen. 

By  ThooM  Medtrfik,  Esq '-: 145 

TL  UXe  and  Cormpondence'  of  Mrs.  Hannah  More.  .••••.•••  155 

III.  Alphabet  of  Natural  Theology,  for  the  Use  pf  Beginners. 

By  James  Renni£,  M.A. «••, »•*«••••••   169 

IV.  The  Priodples  of  Physiology  applied  to  the  Preservation 

of  Health,  and  to  the  improvement  of  Physical  and  Men- 
^1  Education.  By  Andrew  Combe,  M.D.,  F.  R.  Coll. 
Edinburgh 180 

V.  Lardner's  Cabinet  Cydopsdia-— Europe  during  the  Middle 

Ages.    Vol.  4 197 

VI.  lives  of  the  Necromancers.    By  Wiljiam  Gk)dvdn 206 

VII.  The  Bridgewater  Treatises,  on  the  Pow^,  Wisdom,  and 

Goodness  of  Gkxl,  as  manifested  in  the  Creation.  By 
Peter  Mark  Roget,  M.D ^ •....,...    219 

VIII.  A  Sketch  of  Chinese  History,  Ancient  and  Modem.    By 

Rev.  Charles  6utzla£f 238 

IX.  History  of  the  British  Colonies.     By  R.  Montgomery 

Martin .....,.•.. 250 

X.  View  of  the  Origin  and  Migration  of  the  Polynesian  Nation. 

By  John  Dunmore  Lang,  D.D » •,,...    26^ 

XI.  Tales  for  the  British  People.   By  Candida 277 

XII.  The  Popular  Bncyclopeedia,  &c.  &c •  • 285 


CONTENTS. 
Article  Page 

XIII.  nioBiralions  of  Taxation.  No.  5.— The  Scholars  of  Ame- 

side.    By  Mibs  Martineau ib. 

XIV.  History  of  Fleet  Marriages,  &c.     By  John  Southerden 

Bum , 286 

XV.  An  Analytical  Airangement  of  the  Apocalypse.  By  Richard 

Roe t6. 

XVI.  The  Domestic  Manners  and  Private  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

By  J.  Hogg 287 

XVII.  Miller's  Gardener's  Dictionary.    No.  10 ib. 

XVIII.  Illustrations  of  Social  Depravity.    No.  5. — •*  What  are  the 

Rabble?"     By  a  Lady 288 

XIX.  A  Second  Letter  to  C.  £.  Long,  Esq.,  on  the  MS.  Journal 
and  Private  Correspondence  of  the  late  Lieut.-Gen.  R.  B. 
Long.     By  General  Lord  Viscount  Beresford. . .  •  • ib. 

XX.  An  Introduction  to  Greek  Prose  Composition.    By  the  Rev. 

John  Kenrick,  M.A ^....   292 

XXI.  The  Family  Topographer ;  being  a  Compendious  Account 
of  the  Antient  and  Present  State  of  the   Counties  of 
Etfgland.    By  Samuel  Tymms.    Vol.  4. — Oxford  Circuit,    ib. 


CONTENTS 


OF  TBV 


MONTHLY  REVIEW  FOR  NOVEMBER, 


Vol.  III.  (1834)  No.  III. 


Page 

Akt.  I.-^-Memoirs  of  John  Napier,  of  Merchiston/his  lineage^ 
lAfe,  and  Times :  with  a  History  of  the  Invention  of 
Logarithms.     By  Mark  Napier 292 

II. — France,    Social,  Literary,  and  Political.      By  Henry 

Lytton  Bulwer,  Esq.,  M.  P •  •  • «•.*•••..      302 

III. — ^The  Political  Life  of  Prince  Talleyrand,  &c.  &c 319 

IV. — ^The  Book  named  the  Oovemour.     By  Sir  Thomas 

Elyot,  Knt 334 

V. — ^Third  and  Fourth  Meetings  of  the  British  Association 

for  the  Advancement  of  Science • .. .      342 

VI. — ^Letters  from  India ;  inclnding  a  Journey  in  the  British 

Dominions  of  India    By  Victor  Jacquemont 350 

VII. — ^The  Literary  Life  and   Miscellanies  of   John   (hit, 

8vo 364 

VIII. — ^The  Nervous  System,  Anatomical  and  Physiological,  in 
which  the  Fimctions  of  the  various  parts  of  the  Brain 
are,  for  the  first  time  assigned,  &c.  &c.  By  Alexander 
Walker 375 

IX. — Missionary  Researches  in  Armenia,  including  a  Journey 
through  Asia  Minor  and  into  Georgia  and  Persia, 
with  a  Visit  to  the  Nestorians  and  Cl.aldean  Chris* 
tians  of  Oormiah  and  Salmas.  By  Eli  Smith  and 
H.  O.  O.Dwight 379 

X. — Wanderings  in  New  South  Wales.  Batavia,  Pedir, 
Coast,  Singapore,  and  China ;  being  the  Journal  of  a 
Naturalist  in  those  Countries,  during  1832, 1833,  and 
1834.    By  George  Bennett,  Esq.,  F.L.S,,  ..••••..     396 


L 


C0NTSNT8. 

XI. — ^An  Account  of  the  Present  State  of  the  Island  of  Puerto 

Rico,  &c.     By  Colonel  FUnter    411 

XII. — I.  The  Landscape  Annual  for  1835.  The  Tourist  in 
Spain — Granada.  By  Thomas  Roscoe.  Illustrated 
from  DrawiDgs,  by  David  Roberts.  II.  The  Oriental 
Annual  for  1835^  or  Scenes  in  India.  By  the  Rev. 
Hobart  Caunter,  BD 423 

XIII. — A  Dissertation  on  the  Reasonableness  of  Christianity. 

By  th«  Rev.  John  Wilson.  A.  M 440 

XIV.— The  Collected  Poems  of  the  late  N.  T.  Carrington. 

Edited  by  his  Son,  H.  E.  Carrington 440 

XV. — Metrical  Exercises  upon  Scripture  Texts  and  mis- 
cellaneous Poems.  By  Harriet  R.  King 44g 

XVI. — Memoirs  of  the  Rev.  Wm.  Henry  Angas,  ordained  a 
'*  Missionary  to  Seafaring  Men,"  Mayl  1,  1822.  By 
the  Rev.F.  A,  Cox,  L.L.D 442 

XVir.--T^  Eriles  of  Chamnoum;  a  Drama;  and  the  Rose  of 
Cashmere ,  "^an  Oriental  Opera.  By  Charles  Do3rne 
SiUery,  Esq • 43 

XVIII. — Statement  of  some  new  principles  on  the  subject  of  Poli- 
tiedl  Eeenomy,  exposing  the  fallacies  of  the  system 
Fpee  Trade,  and  or  some  other  doctrines  maintanisd 
in  the  "  Wealth  of  Nations."    By  John  Rae 444 

XIX. — ^The  present  State  of  Aural  Surgery,  or  Methods  of 

treating  Deafness,  &c.     By  W.  Wright,  Esq 444 


•  • 


CONTENTS 


OV  THm 


MONTHLY  REVIEW  FOR  DECEMBER. 


Vol.  m.  (1834)  No.  IV. 


Abt.  I.— Lardnex's  Cabinet^  Cyclopedia— History  of  the  Ger- 
manic Empire.  By  S.  A.  Dunbain,  Esq.,  LL.D.,  &c.    445 

11. — Lectures  on  the  ordinary  Agents  of  Life,  as  applicable 
.   to  Therapeutics  and  Hygiine.  By  Alexander  Kilgour, 
M.D 454 

III.-*-Trout  and  Salmon  Fishing  in  Wales.     By  George  Agar 

Hansard ...••<•••..... 467 

IV.— Narrative  of  an  Exp^ditibh*  thr'o^gh'the  Upper  Mis- 
sissippi  to  Itasca  Lake^  the  actual  source  of  this  River. 
By  Henry  R.  Schoolcraft 475 

V. — I.  The  Atlantic  Club-book.    By  various  Authors. — II. 

Tales  and  Sketches.    By  William  L.  Stone 483 

VI.— Elements  of  Practical  Agricoltare.  By  David  Low.,  Esq., 

F.R.S.E 495 

VII. — ^A  Journey  throughout  Ireland  during  the  Spring,  Sum- 
mer, and  Autumn  of  1834.    By  Henry  D.  Inglis  • . .     506 

VIII. — ^The  North  American  Review,  No.  85,  Vol.  39 619 

IX. — Illustrations  of  Social  Depravity.  No.  VII. — ^The  Free- 
masons.   By  John  Reid    529 

X. — Narrative  of  a  Voyage  to  the  Southern  Atlantic  Ocean 
in  iJie  years  1828,  29,  30,  performed  in  His  Ma- 
jesty's Sloop  Chanticleer,  under  the  command  of  the 
late  Captain  Henry  Foster,  F.R.S.  By  W.  H.  B. 
Webster ••••••• •••••.  «•••....  .. ..      oo" 

XI.— Tylney  Hall.    By  Thomas  Hood 456 

XII. — ^The  Angler  in  Ireland;  or,  an  Englishman's  Ramble 
through  Connaugfat  and  Munster,  during  the  Summer 
of  1833 660 


u 


CONTBNTt. 


Xin.-^Bndenoea  of  Christiamty ;  or»  Unde  Philip's  Conver- 
satioDB  with  the  Children  about  the  Truth  of  the 
Christian  Religioli  •  ^ 574 

XIV. — ^Archery  and  Archness.    By  Robin  Hood 574 

XV. — ^Flnden's  Landscape  iflustrations  of  the  Bible.  Part  VI.  •     575 

XVI. — Memorials  of  Oxford,  Historical  and  Descriptive  Ac- 

eoonts  of  the  Colleges,  Halh,  Churches,  kt.  No.  20.     575 

XVII. — ^History  of  England.    By  Hume  and  Smollett,  with  a 

Continuation.  By  the  Rev.  T.  S.  Hughes,  B.  D 575 

XVIII. — Remains  of  the  late  James  Fox  Longmire,  with  a  Me- 
moir of  his  Life*    By  Daniel  Long^ire,  B.  A 576 

XIX. — ^The  Metropolitan  ficcfesiastiGal  Directory,  &c.  &c.    .. .     576 

XX.-«-The  Omnipresence  of  the  Deity.    A  poem.     By  Ro- 
b^  Montg^meff '••••..*.>..•• 

XXI.— ^The  Anatomy  of  the  Seasons,  tTeather-Ouide,  and  Per- 
petual Oompanion  t»  the  Almanac.  By  F.  Stur- 
l^y,  £s<^  •«...••. • .  i  • . .  •  •  tf  • « 

XXIl.>-^Lettera  to  «  Member  of  Parliament,  on  the  Present  State 
of  Thinga;  the  l4nd,  Ibtd  (^urdi  Dissent,  ChuVch 

Reform^  liberalism*  .flpc,  in  referetice  to  Scripture 

Truth • « 578 


677 


577 


■    I   •    I    I 


THE 


MONTHLY    REVIEW. 


■»       ^     » 


SEPTEMBER,    1834. 


Abt.  I. — Dr.  Lariner's  Cahisiet  Cyelofadia  ^ — Biography ; — Naoai  History 
ofJtngland,  'By  Robert  Southby.  Vol.  3.  London :  Longman  &  Co. 
1834. 
The  th^ee  volitnies,  that  havje  been  published  of  this  work^  bring 
tJ^e  naval  history  of  Britain  down  from  the  invasion  of  Caesar  to 
the  year  1606,  embracing  therefore  the  whole  of  the  reign  of 
Queen  Elizabeth.  The  most  brilliant  period  of  our  maritime 
glory  was  accordingly  yet  to  come.  Indeed^  until  JLlizabeth's  ac- 
cession, naval  affairs  had^not  assumed  such  a  decided  importance 
as  to  deserve  a  distinct  arrangement  in  national  pohcy.  Till  then, 
the  military  and  naval  services  were  considered  as  the  same,  or  at 
least  not  separated.  Dr.  Southey,  therefore  down  to  that  period, 
has  done,  what  we  beheve  some  of  his  predecessors,  who  have  written 
works  upon  the  same  subject  have  done — ^he  gives  us  an  account, 
till  Elizabeth's  accession,  in  a  continuous  and  generalizing  form, 
following  the  Course  of  events  that  distinguished  the  country,  as 
respects  her  maritime  relations  or  exploits.  But,  from  that  period^ 
he  thinks  it  better  to  give  the  history  by  a  biographical  arrange* 
ment,  which  adds  a  much  deeper  interest  to  the  matter ;  for  thus 
the  agents  who  have  become  important,  as  well  as  the  actions,  are 
distinctly  kept  before  the  eye,  lending  to  the  history,  which  is 
general  and  public  in  the  result,  the  attraction  that  never  fiEuls  to 
accompany  a  well-written  life. 

We  shall  find  that  the  illustrious  naval  commanders  during  EUza- 
beth's  reign  were  distinguished  by  one  general  feature  from  the 
celebrated  admirals  of  more  modern  times,  which  attaches  to  their 
lives  a  special  sort  of  interest.  They  were  signalized  rather  as 
privateers  than  pubUc  servants.  The  love  of  enterprise,  or  tlie 
nope  of  plunder,  was  their  grand  motive.  It  is  true,  that  the  queen 
and  her  sapient  ministers  had  more  enlarged  and  nobler  views 
than  simply  countenance  such  lionised  sea  rovers.  They  looked 
to  the  discovery  of  distant  countries,  the  opening  a  trade  with  them 
by  just  and  peaceful  means,  and  even  the  establishment  of  perfect 


2  Souihetf's  Naval  History.^ 

discipliiie  on  sea  as  well  as  land.  They  desired  a  wider  range  for 
^enterprize  than  our  own  immediate  aeas^  or  the  adjacent  shores,  till 
at  length  the  British  fleets  have  no  rival.  The  great  figure  indeed 
which  we  make  in  the  w.orld  as  a  nation,  is  due  to  our  naval 
strength  and  achievements :  and  the  difiusion  of  British  fiune  and 
freedom  are  the  glorious  trophies  of  our  maritime  empire. 

To  preserve  an  unbroken  and  complete  detail  of  the  long  series 
of  daring  adventures  and  encounters,  of  those  wonderful  victories — 
by  which  this  mighty  empire  has  been  obtained,  is  highly  worthy  of 
an  able  historian.  The  matter  itself  is  in  magnitude  and  importance 
deserving  a  distinct  form  from  J;he  genefal  history  of  England. 
How  valuable  must  such  a  work  be  to  islanders,  who  owe  their  very 
existence  to  navigation,  and  their  chief  renown  to  navies  !  Above 
all,  the  subject  is  of  unrivalled  importance  to  a  commercial  people, 
who  send  away  their  commodities  to  the  most  distant  parts  of  the 
globe,  and  bring  back  whatever  is  esteemed  for  its  singularity  or 
its  intrinsic  value.  A  clear  and  becoming  history  of  all  these  Jthmgs 
must  also  cherish  and  keep  alive  a  heroic  spirit,  which  is  the 
source  of  gallant  actions,  especially  when  represented  in  the  lives 
of  individual  heroes.  And  although  Dr.  Southey  does  not  wish  to 
induce  any  youth  to  betake  himself  to  the  service,  as  he  tells  us, 
yet  to  those  so  inclined,  such  a  manual  as  he  has  fiirnished  must  be 
valuable,  whence  both  warnings  and  examples  may  be  drawn ;  nor 
could  we  wish  any  other  hand  to  have  been  employed  in  this  work 
than  the  one  which  wrote  that  model  of  biography,  the  life  of 
Nelson. 

The  naval  history  of  Great  Britain  is  a  gratifying  subject  to  her 
sons.  How  the  heart  exults,  how  the  very  bearing  of  every  one 
assumes  a  lofty  confidence  and  magnanimous  superiority,  when  he 
finds  his  country  named  in  connection  with  her  fleets  !  The  mind 
has  found  out  the  happiest  appellations  for  this  unrivalled  power ; 
and  one  delights  to  find  himself  uttering,  ^'  The  wooden  walls  of 
Old  England !"  Dr.  Southey  savs,  that,  according  to  the  Welsh 
Triads,  the  earliest  name  by  which  the  island  was  known  was 
Clas  Alerddin,  "  the  sea-defended  green  spot,"  which  seems  to 
have  been  a  prophetic  designation  ;  but,  as  he  somewhat  quaintly 
adds,  ^^  the  se^  defends  no  people  who  cannot  defend  themselves  P' 
But  have  Britons  not  done  so  in  the  most  illustrious  style  ?  Buona- 
parte with  all  the  ports  of  the  continent  in  his  possession,  and  all 
its  navies  at  his  command,  in  vain  opposed  us.  The  sea  between 
Dover  and  France,  narrow  though  it  be,  was  found  impassable, 
by  this  most  ambitious,  most  powerful,  and  most  inveterate 
enemy. 

Of  the  three  volumes  that  have  been  published  of  this  work,  we 
shall  confine  ourselves  to  the  last.  The  second  ended  with  an  ac- 
count of  the  disasters  and  discomfortures  attendant  on  the  Spanish 
Invincible  Armada,  which  took  place  in  1588,  and  the  third  there- 
fore goes   on  with  the  lives  of  those  sea  adventurers  and  com- 


ScMihey's  Naval  History.  3 

Buukiers,  that  oontiniied  to  pour  England's  vengeance  on  the  domi- 
nions  of  the  gloomy  Philip,  who  impioasly  had  put  his  trust  in  m 
unwieldy  fleet,  and  vainly  imagined  to  quench  the  spirit  and  free- 
dom of  England.  The  hves  of  George  Cliiford,  third  Earl  of  Cum- 
berland, Sir  John  Hawkins,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  Thomas  Caven- 
dish, Sir  Richard  Hawkins,  and  Sir  Richard  Greenville,  are  hefore 
us ;  and  we  may.  say,  every  page  of  the  volume  presents  extract- 
able  and  entertaining  matter. 

Of  all  who  distinguished  Elizabeth's  reign,  the  Earl  of  Northum- 
berland was  the  most  chivalrous  naval  adventurei*.  He  was  not  by 
vocation  a  sailor,  but  took  to  the  seas  from  mere  choice,  "  in  the 
spirit  of  a  northern  sea  king ;"  building  ships,  and  defraying  his 
own  expenses  in  a  princely  style.  He  had  borne  his  part  as  a  vo- 
lunteer in  the  defeat  of  the  armada,  helping  to  '^  win  that  honour 
that  no  sea  can  drown,  no  age  wear  out.''  But  still  it  was,  as  a 
licensed  rover,  that  he  adventured  so  much  and  in  numerous 
voyages,  so  that  the  many  losses  and  difficulties  he  and  others,  fol- 
lowing a  like  course  in  those  times,  encountered,  do  not  aiFect  our 
hearts  so  deeply  as  the  fate  of  enlightened  and  philanthropic 
heroes  naturally  would.  His  last,  and  we  believe,  his  ninth  expe- 
dition was  upon  a  scale  that  no  single  individual,  not  possessea  of 
sovereign  power,  ever  had  attempted  at  his  own  cost.  The  force  of 
his  fleets  was  no  less  than  eighteen  sail,  and  his  design  not  merely 
**  to  take,  destroy,  or  any  way  else  impoverish  and  impeach  the  king 
of  Spain  or  his  subjects ;  but  to  intercept  the  outward-bound  East 
Indiamen,  as  soon  as  they  should  sail  from  the  Tagus  ;  and,  if  this 
should  fail,  to  make  an  attempt  with  his  land  forces  upon  some 
island  or  town,  that  would  yield  him  wealth  and  riches,  these  being 
the  end  of  his  undertaking.  What  an  undertaking  for  a  man  of 
his  noble  and  wealthy  line !  It  appears,  however,  that  while  the 
earl  managed  to  annoy  and  injure  deeply  those  against  whom  he 
went,  little  advantage  accrued  to  himself.  The  biographer  has 
given  many  passages  in  the  words  of  eye  witnesses  and  other  chro- 
niclers, which  are  highly  characteristic,  not  merely  of  the  general 
state  of  feeUng  and  moral  principles  then  prevalent  in  England, 
but  of  the  prodigality  of  the  earl  himself :  we  refer  our  readers  to 
one  passage  alone,  where  the  Doctor  sums  up  the  nobleman's 
character : — 

"  No  other  subject  ever  undertook  so  rcany  at  his  own  cost;  and 
Fuller  gives  him  the  distinction  of  being  *  the  first  born  Englishman 
that  ever  hazarded  himself  in  that  kind;'  adding,  that  his  fleets  were 
^  boxmd  for  no  other  harbour  than  the  port  of  Honour,  though  touching 
at  the  port  of  Profit  in  passage  thereunto  ;  I  say  touching  (says  the  old 
worthy),  for  his  design  was  not  to  enrich  himself,  but  impoverish  the 
enemy. — He  was  as  merciful  as  valiant,  (the  best  metal  bows  best),  and 
left  impressions  of  both  in  all  places  he  came.'  Fuller  eulogizes  him  as 
*a  person  wholly  composed  of  true  honour  and  valour.  There  were 
some  other  ingredients  in  his  character;  and  when  the  Earl  of  Cumber- 
land bore  '  next  to  his  paternal  coats  three  murdering  chain  shots,'  such 

B  2 


4  Southey's  Naval  History, 

an  addition  to  his  armorial  bearings  was  more  significant  than  he  in- 
tended it.  The  desire  of  gfain  must  have  influenced  him  in  his  priva- 
teering speculations  as  much  as  the  desire  of  honour ;  for  a  prodigal  ex- 
penditure, and  losses  in  horse-rating  (which  species  of  gambling  had  in 
his  days  begun  to  be  one  of  the  follies  of  the  great),  had  embarrassed 
his  affairs.  Next  to  his  voyages,  this  passion  and  the  display  which  he 
made  at  tilts,  and  in  all  other  expensive  sports, '  were  the  great  occasion 
of  his  selling  land  ;*  and  he  is  said  to  have  *  consumed  more  than  any 
one  of  his  ancestors'"/  The  large  expenditure  which  his  station  required 
his  own  ample  means  could  amply  have  supported ;  but  no  means  are 
adequate  to  the  demands  of  prodigality." — p.  65, 

Of  the  earl's  issue,  only  one  daughter  survived  him :  "  This 
daughter,  by  ber  second  marriage.  Countess  of  Pembroke,  was  one 
of  the  most  high-minded  and  remarkable  women  of  her  age  :  and 
seems  to  have  been  the  last  person  in  England  bv  whom  the  old 
baronial  dignity  of  feudal  times  was  supported.  All  the  good  con-* 
nected  with  it  was  manifested  without  any  of  the  evil.  Danid 
was  her  tutor :  and  she  had  the  honour  of  erecting  Spencer^s  mo- 
nument." 

We  next  come  to  the  life  of  Sir  John  Hawkins,  the  son  of  a  sea 
captain  that  Henry  VTH.  had  much  esteemed.  He  was  the  first 
Englishman  who  engaged  in  the  slave  trade ;  and  he  iseems  to  havQ 
entered  upon  this  department  of  business  with  as  much  indifference 
or  satisfaction  as  a  keen  sportsman  goes  to  hunt,  fish  or  fowl : 
countenanced  and  encouraged,  too,  by  a  number  of  the  principal 
citizens  of  London.  Nay,  he  dealt  with  this  species  of  prey  with 
as  much  sang  froid  as  any  member  of  the  British  senate  within 
these  last  fifty  years  could  have  desired.  It  will  doubtless  be  a 
marvel  to  generations  that  have  not  seen  the  light  in  this  country, 
what  sort  of  men  those  were,  even  to  the  external  eye,  that  advo- 
cated in  behalf  of  slavery ;  and,  unless  it  be  taught  them  that  one 
and  not  the  slightest  of  its  evils  was  the  brutalizing  the  whites, 
while  it  put  and  kept  in  bondage  the  blacks,  they  never  can  be  able  to 
understand  how  men,  otherwise  estimable,  and  who  professed  Chris- 
tianity, could  approve  of  such  revolting  practices  as  slavery  de- 
manded. We  never  lost  our  composure  so  completely  as  when  its 
advocates  would,  with  a  vile  perversion  of  ideas,  ground  their  de- 
fence of  the  system  upon  humane  principles,  and  maintain,  some- 
times truly,  no  doubt,  that  many  of  the  West  Indian  slaves  were 
better  off  than  the  labourers  in  England.  How  rational  it  was 
to  make  men  happy  against  their  will !  or  to  trust  to  an^  indivi- 
dual fact  that  was  m  the  face  of  great  and  fiindamental  prmciples  ! 
thus  permitting  a  fallacious  appearance  to  perpetuate  a  monstrous 
wrong.  But  honour  to  the  ministry  that  washed  away  fiir  the 
future  this  foul  blot  upon  Britons  and  professed  Christians !  It  was 
worth  partaking  iu  the  nationcd  depression  of  late  years,  to  live 
when   slavery  received  its  death-blow  in  our  colonies.     Still  the 

*Hist.  of  Westmoreland,  290. 


Souikey'g  Naval  History.  5 

wiHider  will  be,  how  civilized  men  could  ever  be  trained  to  look  with 
composure,  and  complacency   too,   upon  such  a  forbidding  and 

lieinous  evil : — 

• 

'  It  is  now  no  honour  to  have  been  the  first  Englishman  who  en- 
gaged in  the  slave  trade.  But  it  is  not  generally  known  how  so  iniqui- 
tous a  trade  grew  up  without  being  regarded  as  in  the  slightest  degree 
repugnant  either  to  natural  justice,  or  to  the  principles  of  Christianity. 
At  a  time  when  European  warfare  had  been  mitigated  by  the  courtesies 
of  chivalry,  and  by  the  frequent  changes  of  political  relations,  more  than 
by  any  growing  sense  of  humanity,  the  wars  between  Mahommedan  and 
Ghristian  were  carried  on  with  as  much  ferocity  as  in  the  days  of  Gceur 
de  Lion ;  only  where  the  contending  parties,  as  in  Spain,  were  conti- 
nually opposed  to  each  other,  such  unrelenting  butchery  was  disused  by 
muAual  though  tacit  consent,  because  it  would  have  reduced  the  land  to 
a  desert ;  and  there,  those  who  fell  into  the  hands  of  their  enemies  were 
made  slaves.  The  Portugueze,  having  cleared  their  own  .territory,  in- 
vaded the  Moors  in  Barhary ;  the  same  system  was  there  pursued  with 
the  same  people.  Their  first  discoveries  were*  made  as  much  in  the 
spirit  of  conquest  as  of  adventure;  and  the  same  treatment  which 
usage  had  allotted  to  the  captured  Moors  was  extended,  as  of  course,  tb 
the  negproes  who  were  taken  along  the  same  line  of  coast.  To  so  great 
an  extent  did  this  prevail,  that  negro  slavery  was  Almost  as  common  in 
Portugal  in  the  early  part  of  the  sixteenth  century  as  it  afterwards  be- 
came in  the  sugar  islands.  And  so  entirely  were  all  persons  possessed 
with  the  opinion  that  slavery  was  the  condition  to  wluch  this  unhappy 
race  was  destined,  that  La  Casas,  when  he  proposed  the  substitution  of 
fiegro  for  Indian  slavery,  as  a  measure  of  hiunanity,  never  suspected 
himself  of  acting  inconsistently,  nor  dreamed  that  the  injustice  and 
cruelty  were  as  great  to  the  one  race  as  to  the  other." — ^pp.  ^,  69. 

We  remember  that  Drake  was  one  of  the  names  that  took  hold 
of  our  memory  in  our  early  greediness  after  the  marvellous  by  flood 
and  field.  His  mean  parentage  bespoke  our  romantic  favour ;  the 
story  of  the  first  sight  he  obtained  of  the  South  Sea,  from  the  top 
of  a  high  tree  on  the  Isthmus  of  Darien,  was  enough  to  establish 
a  lasting  warmth  of  heart  towards  him.  It  was  frona  this  height, 
we  are  told,  he  had  a  full  view  of  the  ocean,  concerning  which  he 
had  heard  such  golden  reports  :  and  here  it  was,  he  besought  God 
to  grant  him  "  life  and  leave  once  to  sail  an  English  ship  in  those 
seas  !*'  It  was  years  after  this,  however,  when  the  following  boast 
was  made  by  him : — 

^^  Drake  having  lost  his  pinnace  was  driven  still  farther  south,  ran  in 
4igain  among  the  islands,  and  at  length  *  fell  in  with  the  uttermost  part 
oi  thq  land  towards  the  south  pole, — ^without  which  there  is  no  main  nor 
island  to  be  seen  to  the  southward ;  but  the  Atlantic  Ocean  and  the 
South  Sea  meet  in  a  large  and  free  scope.*  The  storm,  which  vrith  little 
intermission  had  continued  fifty-one  days,  ceased :  they  found  an  anchor- 
ing place  at  the  southern  extremity  of  the  land,  since  called  Cape  Horn ; 
and  to  all  the  islands  which  lay  without,  and  to  the  south  of  the  strait, 
Drake  gave  the  name  of  the  Elizabethides.     He  had  thus  accidentally 


6  Sauthey's  Naval  History. 

discovered  Cape  Horn,  and  by  that  displaced  the  old  terra  ineognUa 
from  a  large  portion  of  the  space  which  it  occopied  in  the  map  :  '  we 
altered  the  name/  says  Mr.  Fletcher,  '  to  terra  nunc  bene  cognita* 
Drake  went  ashore,  and,  sailor  like,  ledning  over  a  promontory,  as  far  as 
he  safely  could,  came  back,  and  told  his  people  that  he  had  been  farther 
south  than  any  man  living.** — pp.  141, 142. 

'^  SaiIor*Iike/'  says  Doctor  Southey :  and  a  more  descriptive 
epithet  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  language.  This  appellation,  or 
that  of  a  ''  British  tar,"  points  out  to  the  apprehension  of  every 
one  more  in  its  simple  utterance,  than  a  lengthened  delineatioii 
by  any  other  medium  could  do ;  and  the  reason  for  this  must  lay 
not  only  in  one  style  of  features  being  prevalent  in  the  class,  whiiji 
their  peculiar  calling  naturally  begets,  but  their  being  the  very  fre- 
quent object  of  our  intense  and  partial  observation.  Their  vices 
are  as  characteristic  as  their  virtues,  nor  do  we  well  know  some- 
times whether  to  arrange  parts  of  their  conduct  under  the  one  head 
or  the  other.  Their  recklessness  and  their  generosity  strangely 
mingle  and  alternate.  One  thing  may  be  declared  of  sailors,  that 
their  many  privations,  their  self-denial,  strict  obedience,  carelessness 
of  dangers  in  the  face  of  death,  cannot  leave  them  undianged ;  and 
he  who  has  to  encounter  all  these,  must  either  be  brutalized  or 
exalted  by  their  operation  upon  his  mind.  We  have  a  short  but 
fine  summing  up  of  the  romantic  Drake^s  character  and  ap^ 
pearance : — 

*'  He  was  of  low  stature,  but  well  set ;  his  chest  broad,  his  hair  a  fine 
brown,  his  beard  full  and  comely,  his  head  remarkably  round,  his  eyes 
large  and  clear,  his  complexion  fair,  and  the  expression  of  his  fresh  and 
cheerful  countenance  open  and  engaging.  His  temper  was  qnkk, 
and  he  is  said  to  have  been  *haid  to  be  reconciled ;'  but  the  same  streoigth 
of  feeling  made  him  oonstaat  in  friendship.  The  gift  of  eloquence  he 
possessed  in  a  remarkable  degree,  and  was  fond  of  displaying  it.  One 
who  served  under  him  says,  that  he  was  ambitioiu  to  a  fault;  and  the 
vanities  which  usually  accompanies  that  sin  laid  him  open  to  flattery  : 
but  he  encouraged  and  preferred  merit  wherever  he  found  it ;  and  his 
affable  manners  gave  him  a  sure  hold  upon  the  affections  of  his  men, 
while  they  had  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  his  unrivalled  skill  as  a 
seaman,  and  his  never- failing  promptitude  in  all  cases  of  emergency.  At 
all  times  he  was  a  willing  hearer  of  every  man's  opinion ;  but  for  the 
most  part — as  a  truly  great  man  for  the  most  part  must  be — a  follower 
of  his  own."— pp.  241,  242. 

In  Cavendish's  life,  who  was  one  of  the  most  successful  adven- 
turers that  foUowed  in  the  tract  of  Sir  Francis  Drake,  we  extract 
the  following  story.  The  matter  described  happened  at  Guatulco, 
in  the  South  Seas. 

''  Cavendish  burned  the  church  here  as  he  had  done  at  Puna.  He 
might  have  known  that,  by  burning  a  church,  he  excited  among  the 
Spaniards  greater  horror  and  hatred  against  England  than  weis  felt 
there  when  the  Spaniards  burned  an  Englishman;  sacrilege  being  a 
crime  less  frequent  in  the  one  country  than  cruelty  in  the  other,  and  a 


^  — > 


S<mthey*s  Navql  History,  7 

cnme  by  which  even  criminals  were  shocked.  Advantage  was  made  of 
this  feelmg  at  Ghiatulco  in  another  way.  There  was  a  wooden  cross 
tiiere  five  fathoms  in  height,  which  the  Spaniaids  say  Cavendish's  men 
pulled  down, and  smeared  it  with  pitch,  piled  dried  reeds  around  it,  and  then 
endeavoured  to  consume  it  hy  fire.  The  reeds  burned  and  the  pitch, — 
not  so  the  cross :  more  and  more  oomhustihles  were  thrown  on ;  and 
when  the  invaders  reimbarked,  after  three  days'  tarriance,  during  all 
which  time  they  had  continued  their  vain  endeavours,  they  left  it  under 
a  heap  6f  ashes  and  burning  brands  uneonsumed.  And  when  the  8pa* 
niaids  returned  to  tiieir  ruined  dwellings,  they  found  it  brightened  and 
beaittified  by  Its  fiery  trial,  and  were  eonsoled  for  their  own  injuries  by 
seeing  that  Heayen  had  manifested  itself  in  the  protection  of  the  holy 
rood.  The  cross,  before  it  underwent  this  assay,  had  heen  in  good  odour ; 
it  was  made  of  a  hiagrant  wood  which  was  not  known  to  grow  within 
finrty  leagues  of  that  place :  it  had  been  presumed  that  one  of  the  apostles 
bad  planted  it  there,  and  that  one  was  supposed  to  have  been  St.  Andrew. 
Now,  however,  when  it  had  merits  enough  of  its  own,  the  likelier 
opinion  was  preferred  that  it  had  been  erected  when  Cortes  built  some 
ships  there  for  a  voyage  of  discovery.  The  report  of  its  miraculous  pre- 
servation spread  far  and  wide;  and  from  all  parts  devotees  who  could  walk 
came  to  visit  it,  and  to  carry  away  fragments j  the  smallest  splinter  of 
which,  if  cast  into  the  sea,  stilled  a  tempest;  if  thrown  into  a  fire 
quefBched  the  flames ;  and  if  pat  in  water,  changed  it  inta  a  sovereign 
medicine.  •  This  waste  of  its  suhstance  was  not  miraculously  supplied } 
and  when  about  a  fifth  part  only  was  left,  the  bishop  of  Antiquera  re- 
moved it  to  his  city,  built  a  chapel  for  it,  and  enshrined  it  there  with  all 
possible  honours  upon  a  holyday  appointed  for  the  occasion.  There  its 
history  continued  to  be  told  to  the  reproach  of  the  English  name." — 
pp.  263,  264. 

We  are  not  attempting  to  give  any  outline  of  the  lives  contained 
in  this  volume,  nor  to  make  it  appear  that  our  quotations  are  tlie 
most  striking  parts  of  the  work.  Every  page  as  we  have  above 
said,  presents  good  matter  for  extracting ;  where  the  daring,  the 
cruelty,  or  the  noble  virtues  of  strong-hearted  men  are  singularly 
apparent.  Here  is,  in  Sir  Richard  Hawkins's  biography,  a  lively 
and  somewhat  homely  picture  : — 

^*  After  distinguishing  himself  in  what  was  then  called  (in  Spanish 
idiom)  the  journey  against  the  Spanish  armada,  he,  who  with  his  father's 
counsel,  consent  and  help,  had  resolved  upon  a  voyage  for  the  islands  of 
Japan,  of  the  Philippines,  and  Moluccas,  and  the  kingdoms  of  China  and 
the  East  Indies,  hy  the  way  of  the  Straits  of  Magellan  and  the  South 
Sea,  caused  a  ship  to  be  hidit  for  it  on  the  Thames,  of  between  300  and 
400  tons.  The  work  was  finished  to  his  entire  content ;  *  for  she  was 
pleasing  to  the  eye,  profitable  for  stowage,  good  of  sail,  and  well  condi- 
tioned.'— *•  The  day  of  her  launching,'  he  says, '  being  appointed,  the  lady 
Hawkins,  my  mother-in-law,  craved  the  naming  of  the  ship,  which  was 
easily  granted  her ;  and  she,  knowing  what  voyage  was  pretended  to  be 
oaderteken,  named  her  the  Repentance.  What  her  thoughts  were  was 
kept  secret  to  herself;  and  although  many  times  I  expostulated  with  her 
to  declare  the  reason  for  giving  her  that  uncouth  name,  L  could  never 
have  any  other  satisfaction  than  that  *  Repentance  was  the  safest  ship 


8  Souiheys  NawU  Hhtary, 

we  could  sail  in  to  purchase  the  haren  of  Heaven.'  WeU*  I  kacw  she 
was  no  prophetess,  though  a  religious  and  most  virtuous  lady,  and  of  a 
very  good  understanding.  Yet  too  prophetical  it  fell  out  by  God's  se- 
cret judgments,  and  was  sufficient  for  the  present  to  cause  me  to  desist 
from  the  enterprise,  and  leave  the  ship  to  my  father,  who  willingly  took 
her,  and  paid  the  entire  charge  of  the  builaing  and  furnishing  of  her, 
which  I  had  concerted  or  paid.  And  this  I  did,  not  for  any  superstition  I 
have  in  names,  or  for  that  I  think  them  able  to  further  or  hinder  aay 
thing ;  for  that  all  immediately  dependeth  upon  the  providence  of  Al^ 
mighty  God,  and  i^  disposed  by  him  alone.  Yet  advise  I  all  persona 
ever  (neur  as  they  can)  by  all  means,  and  on  all  occasions,  to  pfieaag» 
unto  tnemselves  the  good  they  can.' 

**  It  chanced,  however,  that  when  the  Repentance  had  been  'put  in  per* 

fection,*  and  was  riding  at  Deptford,  the  queen  passing  by  on  her  way 

to  the  palace  of  Greenwich,  *  commanded  her  bargemen  to  row  round 

about  her,  and  viewing  her  from  po9t  to  stem  disliked  nothing  but  her 

name,  and  said  she  would  christen  her  anew,  and  that  thenceforth  she 

should  be  called  the  Dainty.'    Under  that  name  she  made  many  pros* 

perous  voyages  in  the  queen's  services ;  and  when  her  owner.  Sir  John^. 

resolved    to  sell  her,   though   with  some  loss,  because    '  she  never 

brought  but  cost,  trouble,  and  care  to  him,'  his  son.  Sir  Richard,  whose 

forebodings  concerning  her  had  been  removed  when  she  was  anabaplized, 

and  who  ever  had  had  *  a  particular  love  unto  her,  and  a  desire  that  she 

should  continue  in  the  family,'  repurchased  her  from  him,  with  all  her 

furniture,  at  the  price  for  which  he  had  formerly  disposed  of  her.    And 

having  *  waged  a  competent  number  of  men,'  and  purchased  sufficient 

stores  for  his  journey, '  so  often  talked  of,  and  so  much  desired,'  he  waa 

ready  at  the  beginning  of  April,  1553,  to  sail  from  Blackwall  to  Ply*' 

mouth,  there  to  join  the  other  two  vessels  destined  for  this  expedition, 

the  one  a  ship  of  100  tons,  the  other  a  pinnace  of  60,  both  his  own.    An 

expectation  that  the  lord  high  admiral  with  Sir  Robert  Cecil,  principal 

secretary  to  the  queen,  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  would  honour  him  and 

his  ship  with  their  presence  and  fisiTeweU,  detained  him  some  days.    But 

rain  and  *  untemperate'  weather  deprived  him  of  the  favour  which  he 

hoped  to  have  received  at  their  hands ;  and  the  wind  serving,  according 

to  his  wish,  he  caused  the  pilot  to  '  wayle  down  to  Gravesend,  took  an 

unhappy  last  leave   of  his    father,  and  followed    in    his  barge.'"-* 

pp.  285—287. 

We  shall  only  gratify  our  readers  with  one  other  extract;  and 
one  concluding  remark,  which  is  this,  that  Dr.  Southey  seems  to 
possess,  in  an  eminent  degree,  that  sagacity  which  fully  appreci- 
ates the  sailor's  character,  together  with  a  true  English  enthusiasm, 
enriched  by  the  most  highly  cultured  taste,  and  sanctified  by  the 
purest  religion.  On  such  grounds,  this  work  possesses  the  best 
recommendations  to  young  readers,  and  also  to  scholars.  As  a 
specimen  of  the  fine  and  full  perception  of  an  English  sailor's 
spirit,  take  the  last  scene  in  Sir  Richard  Greenville's  life,  after  a 
display  of  desperate  valour,  when  the  English  squadron  had  been 
surprised  by  the  Spanish  fleet  at  Flores,  and  his  ship  separated 
from  the  squadron  : — 


SomlheyU  Naval  Hiatinry-  9 

«*  ^kr  Richard  finding  himself  in  this  distrett,  the  Revenge  not  able  to 
more  one  way  or  the  other,  but  as  she  rolled  with  the  waves,  called  upon 
the  company  to  yield  themselves  unto  God,  and  to  the  mercy  of  none 
else,  and  commanded  the  master  gunner,  whom  he  knew  for  a  most 
naelute  man,  to  split  and  sink  the  ship,  '  that  thereby  nothing  might 
remain  of  glory  or  victory  to  the  Spaniards.  The  gunner  readily 
ccmaented,  but  the  captain  and  the  master  were  of  another  opinion ;  the 
eoemy,  they  said,  would  be  as  ready  to  entertain  a  composition  as  they 
weffe  to  offer  it;  there  were  many  brave  men  yet  living,  and  whose 
woundsweze  net  mortal,  who  might  live  to  do  their  country  and  their  prince 
acceptable  service ;  they  besought  Sir  Richard  to  have  some  consideration 
for  them :  and  told  him,  that  as  for  any  triumph  which  the  Spaniards 
could  have  in  taking  one  of  her  maiesty's  ships,  she  was  so  much  injured 
that  they  could  not  save  her  from  smking,  and  there  was  a^  this  time  six 
feet  water  in  the  hold.  Sir  Richard  continued  obstinate  in  his  purpose^ 
Leaving  the  captain,  therefore,  to  use  his  influence  with  the  men,  and 
prevent  him  from  affecting  it,  the  master  went  on  board  the  Spanish 
genecai,  and  easily  obtained  from  a  noble  enemy  that  all  their  lives  should 
be  saved,  and  the  company  sent  to  England,  the  better  sort  paying  such. 
reasonable  ransom  as  their  estate  would  bear ;  and  in  the  mean  season  to 
be  £[«e  from  the  galle3rs  or  imprisomnent.  The  guimer,  finding  himself 
aad  Sir  Richard  thus  prevented  and  mastered  by  the  greater  number,  wad 
only  by.foiee  withheld  itom  killing  himself;  and  many  of.  the  people 
fearing  Sir  Richard's  disposition,  *  shot  away'  aboard  the  Spazpsh  ships. 

^  Don  Alonso  Baasan,  brother  to  the  Maxquis  of  Santa  Cruz,  was  the 
general  of  this  fleet.  He  granted  the  more  readily  the  terms  which  were 
asked,  for  the  great  desire  he  had  to  save  Sir  Richard,  '  whom,  for  his 
notable  valonr,  he  seemed  greatly  to  admire,'  and  he  sent  for  him  into  his 
oivn  ship  the  St.  Paul,  the  Revenge  *  being  filled  with  blood,  and  slain 
and  wounded  men,  like  a  slaughter-house.'  Sir  Richard  said  the  general 
might  do  with  his  body  what  he  listed ;  and  fainting  as  he  was  carried  out, 
when  he  was  brought  to  himself,  he  desired  the  company  to  pray  for  him. 
Hie  wounds  were  immediately  dressed  by  the  Spanish  surgeons.  Don 
Alonso  did  not  come  near  him ;  but  the  other  captains  and  men  of  rank 
casae  to  visit  and  comfort  him  in  his  misfortune,  wondering  at  his  stead- 
fssftness  and  stout  heart,  for  he  showed  no  sign  of  faintness  nor  any  change 
of  countenance ;  and  feeling  that  his  death  was  at  hand,  he  spake  these 
memorable  words  in  Spanish,  that  all  who  heard  them  might  bear  witness 
to  their  tenour : — *  Here  die  I,  Richard  Greenville,  with  a  joyful  and  a 
quiet  mind,  for  that  I  have  ended  my  life  as  a  good  soldier  ought  to  do, 
who  has  fought  for  his  country,  queen,  religion,  and  honour.  Wherefore 
my  soul  joyfully  departeth  out  of  this  body,  and  shall  always  leave  behind 
it  an  everlasting  fame  of  a  true  soldier,  who  hath  done  his  duty  as  he  was 
bound  to  do.  But  the  others  of  my  company  have  done  as  traitors  and 
dogs,  for  which  they  shall  be  reproached  all  their  lives,  and  leave  a  shame- 
ful name  for  ever.'     He  died  on  the  second  or  third  day  after  his  capture. 

"  Though  Sir  Richard  Greenville  caimot  be  justified  for  entering  into 
the  action  in  which  he  lost  his  life,  he  supported  it  so  bravely,  that  he 
raised  the  character  of  the  British  navy,  and  thereby  well  entitled  himself 
to  the  place  which  he  continues  to  hold  in  its  annals.  His  death-scene 
stamped  his  character  in  the  minds  of  his  contemporaries  and  of  posterity; 
so  great  is  the  effect  of  any  one  virtue,  when  displayed  in  an  eminent 


ID  Hitieiy  «/  British  Costume, 

degree,  even  though  it  be  that  virtue  which  is  the  commonest,  as  belong* 
ing  sometime  wholly,  and  generally  in  great  part,  to  our  animal  nature, 
and  which  may  exist  with  little  to  ennoble,  and  nothing  to  adorn  it.  At 
that  time,  too,  a  better  moral  feeling  began  to  prevail  between  Spain  and 
England.  As  soon  as  it  was  open  war  between  the  two  countries,  the 
feeSng  of  hatred  gradually  softened  into  that  of  hostility.  On  the  part 
of  the  English  it  was  no  longer  a  private  quarrel,  in  which  individuals 
engaged  for  the  strong  desire  of  plunder,  or  the  stronger  appetite  for 
revenge ;  and  on  the  part  of  the  Spaniards  it  was  felt  that  they  were  not 
BOW  engaged  with  pirates,  but  with  national  enemies,  'who  were  entitled 
to  the  usages  of  fair  warfare.  On  both  sides  it  became  a  public  qvuurrek 
and  a  pubHc  cause.  And  though  there  was  still  too  much  opportunity 
bdA  scope  for  the  exercise  of  evil  passions,  generous  feelings  also  were 
called  into  action ;  and  each  nation  learnt  to  respect  the  characteristic 
virtues  of  the  other."— pp.  336—339. 


Art.  II.— T^ff  Library  of  Entertaining  Knowledge. — History  of  British 

Costume.    London:  Charles  Knight.     1834. 

The  history  of  costume  is  as  implortant  a  branch  of  antiquarian 
research  as  that  of  architecture,  or  any  other  order  of  anei^t 
things ;  because  it  is  as  illustrative  of  all  that  is  valuable  in  the 
past.  Our  eyes  have  dwelt  and  fed  on,  an  old  warrior's  moth-eaten 
coat,  with  a  more  insatiable  wonder  and  anxiety,  that  fain  would 
behold  and  know  aU  that  he  was  in  face,  figure,  and  bearing,  than 
ever  they  did  upon  the  apartment  in  which  he  died.  The  shape, 
and  the  material  of  the  garment,  in  some  measure  present  an  im* 
mediate  and  living  picture  of  the  departed.  We  embody  it  so  to 
speak,  with  his  identical  person,  and  when  we  touch  it,  it  is  as  if 
we  expected  the  substance  to  be  warm,  and  responsive  to  the  free- 
dom.  It  is  with  such  feelings  that  we  have  frequently  gased  upon 
Lord  Nelson's  threadbare  coat,  that  is  carefully  preserved  in  the 
Picture  Gallery  of  Greenwich  Hospital.  We  have  gazed  upon  it, 
till  it  seemed  to  move  with  the  heavings  and  pantings  of  the  bidden 
body ;  and  we  have  ui^consciously  ceased  to  speak,  half  afraid  of 
disturbing  the  ideal  personage. 

We  maintain,  that,  independent  of  antiquarian  associations,  ap- 
parel is  universally  looked  upon  as  the  closest  representative  of  him 
who  wore  it.  We  have  known  a  parent,  who  was  a  patten  of 
manly  virtues  and  sentiments,  preserve  his  composure  in  the  most 
trying  and  alarming  moments,  connected  with  the  sudden  death 
of  his  only  son,  till  the  removal  of  the  young  man's  clothes  (now 
no  more  to  be  used  by  their  accustomed  wearer)  from  their  wonted 
femiliar  place,  was  set  about,  when  the -swollen  tide  of  anguish 
burst  forth,  breaking  down  all  the  strong  holds  of  a  warm  and 
lofty  nature.  In  the  hurry  of  domestic  aiFairs,  during  the  young 
man's  short  illness,  there  had  not  been  time,  and  it  would  have 
been  unseemly,  ta  have  interfered  with  his  little  matters  ;  but  now 
all  was  over — he   was   no  more ;  his  fishing-rod  and  gun,  must 


Hkt&ry  of  BrUitk  Co9tmme.  1 1 

needs  be  careftdly  laid  out  of  the  way^  and  his  ai^fMret,  by  a  djring 
nrpmction  to  be  given  to  a  poor  boy  in  the  neighbourhood,  when- 
ever they  should  suit,  were  to  be  folded  and  locked  up.  The  fishings 
rod  and  the  gun,  the  bereaved  father  handled  freely; — but  it  was 
the  sight  of  the  cloaths  that  overwhelmed  him,  and  mastered  his 
heart.  And  perhaps  there  have  been  few  finer  and  more  affecting 
domestic  scenes  than  were  witnessed  twice  in  the  year  afterwards, 
when  his  father  sunned  the  bequeathed  apparel ;  the  simple  act 
estabhabed  periodically  a  mourn&l  and  solemn  day  of  commemo- 
latioii  in  that  femily.  « 

But  not  to  be  too  grave,  we  maintain,  that  a  knowledge  and  a 
tddte  in  dre^,  to  speak  only  of  contemporary  fariiions,  are  worthy  of 
coltivation,  inasiiittcih  as  these  will  be  pursued  with  a  corre- 
sponding advancement  in  much  higher  degaitments.  It  is,  there- 
foire,  that  dress  afibrdis  a  good  index  to  general  character.  All  the 
world  looks  to  such  an  index,  whatever  pretended  despisers  may 
say,  especially  in  the  case  of  a  young  man :  and  without  longer 
keeping  apart  from  the  contents  of  the  work  before  us.  we  declare, 
after  forty  years'  experience  of  the  thronging  world,  tnat  the  best 
feibws  in  £n^nd»  generally  speaking,  are  those  whom  the  vulgar 
or  the  enviottB  eall  puppies,  merely  from  a  remarkable  nicety  in  the 
cat  and  the  eolour  of  their  garments^ 

'  It  is,  however,  as  a  type  or  mirror  of  the  times,  that  the  know* 
ledge  of  costume^  therewith  connected,  becomes  chiefly  valuable. 
How  our  ancestors  dressed  may  in  itself  be  a  curious  rather  than 
useful  inquiry,  but  the  subject  when  used  as  a  handle,  evidence,  or 
groundwork,  becomes  as  important  and  serious  as  are  any  or  aU 
of  the  facts  that  can  be  thereon  fixed  or  built.  A  slight  attention 
to  the  matter  will  convince  any  one,  that  not  merely  the  painter, 
poet»  and  historian  are  concerned,  but  the  philosopher,  the  manu^ 
&eturer  and  tradesman^  are  deeply  interested  in  investigations  of 
the  sort,  which  the  worl^  before  us,  in  a  condensed,  lucid,  beautifiU 
and  delight&d  manner,  has  elucidated. 

The  author  goes  back  to  the  remotest  periods  of  British  history 
fiir  his  materials,  and  comes  down  to  the  present  generation,  giving 
a  separate  but  short  account  of  the  national  costumes  of  Scotland 
and  Ireland.  He  also,  throughout,  affords  much  light  upon  the 
armour  of  our  ancestors,  which  indeed  is  a  branch  so  necessarily 
interwoven  with  the  costume  of  every  warlike  people,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  describe  the  one  without  the  other.  The  numerous 
woodcuts  that  embellish  the  volume  enable  the  reader  at  once  to 
go  along  with  the  author  in  his  narrative  and  enthusiasm,  and  we 
therefore  strongly  recommend  the  work  to  every  one  who  is  de- 
sirous of  having  a  lively  conception  of  English  history. 

The  first  extract  we  give  is  firom  the  reign  of  William  the  Con- 
qaexoTi  Here  are  suggestions  for  the  modem  professors  that  ope- 
rate upon  the  chin  : — 


12  HUtary  of  British  Costume. 

<*  The  degenerate  and  sensual  Saxons  imitated  the  fashions  of  tbeir 
neighbours,  but  were  incapable  of  copying  their  virtues,  and  we,  there- 
fore«  find  the  general  civil  costume  of  the  Normans  consisting,  like  the 
Anglo-Saxon,  of  the  short  tunic,  the  cloak,  the  drawers,  with  long 
stodcings,  or  pantaloons  with  feet  to  them»  called  by  the  Normans 

*  Chausses,*  by  which  term  we  beg  our  readers  to  observe  they  will  be 
henceforth  designated  throughout  the  work,  as  the  use  of  modecn  names 
for  ancient  habits  or  weapons  creates  considerable  confusion  in  dates  as 
well  as  ideas.  Shoes  and  leg-bandages  are  worn  as  before.  Short  boots 
are  also  common  towards  the  close  of  the  reign ;  and  a  flat  round  cap, 
like  a  Scotch  bonnet,  and  another,  which  appears  little  more  than  a  coif, 
kre  the  general  head  coverings  of  unarmed  persons.  In  state  dresses  the 
tunic  reaches  to  the  ancle,  and  the  mantle  is  ample  and  flowing  to  corre- 
spond. The  crown  of  the  monarch  is  scarcely  distinguishable  upon  his 
seal,   but  appears  to  resemble  that  of  the  Confessor.     Wace,   in  his 

*  Roman  de  Rou,'  describes  William  as  lacing  and  untying  his  cloak 
repeatedly  in  his  agitation  and  anger,  on  the  news  being  brought  him  of 
Harold's  accession  to  the  throne  of  England  ;  and  cords  and  tassels  are 
now  seen  attached  to  the  mantles  of  distinguished  personages.  We  have 
observed  them  already  in  the  drawing  of  Canute. 

*'  The  Normans  not  only  shaved  the  face  entirely^  in  contradistinction 
to  the  Anglo-Saxons,  who  left,  at  any  rate,  the  upper  lip  unshorn,  but 
before  the  time  of  the  Conquest  had  adopted  the  Aquitanian  fashion  of 
shaving  the  back  of  the  head  also,  which  occasioned  the  spies  of  Harold 
to  report  that  they  had  seen  no  soldiers,  but  an  army  of  priests  ?  This 
anecdote  has  been  quoted  by  all  the  historians,  as  proving  only  the 
absence  of  beard  and  moustache  amongst  the  Normans,  as  they  say  it  was 
considered  indecent  in  priests  to  wear  them ;  but  clerical  personages  are, 
notwithstanding,  continually  represented  at  this  period  with  both,  and 
the  absence  of  them,  therefore,  would  not  have  borne  out  the  reports  of 
the  spies,  but  for  the  other  singularity,  which  is  distinctly  represented  in 
the  Bayeux  tapestry,  and  one  of  the  strongest  proofs  of  its  authenticity. 
William  and  his  Normans  are  therein  distinguished  by  the  backs  ofiheir 
heads  being  eiosefy  shaven^  so  as  really  to  give  them  a  monkish  appear- 
ance, while  the  Saxons  are  represented  with  hair  as  usually  worn,  and 
moustaches,  as  described  by  William  of  Malmsbury,  and  a  few  with 
comely  beards. — pp.  64 — 56. 

In  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  a  new  and  most  valuable  source  of 
information  opens.  Monuinental  effigies  of  the  illustrious  dead 
from  that  period  remain.  That  of  the  above-named  monaich  in 
the  Abbey  of  Fontevraud,  in  Normandy^  has  frequently  been  de- 
scribed. It  was  the  custom  to  sculpture  them  in  their  habits  as 
they  lived,  and  in  a  style  far  more  correct  than  could  h«ve  been 
expected  in  an  age  so  dark.  They  were  sometimes  most  elaborately 
coloured  and  gilt,  and  all  of  the  frill  size  ;  and  sometimes  in  habit 
exactly  the  same  as  they  lay  in  state.  Matthew  Paris  says,  that 
Henry  II,  "was  an'ayed  in  the  royal  investments,  having  a  golden 
crown  on  the  head,  and  gloves  on  the  hands,  boots  wrought  with 
gold  on  the  feet,  and  spurs,  a  great  ring  on  the  finger>  and  a'sceptre 
in  the  hand,  and  girt  with  a  sword;  he  lay  with  his  face  uncovered.*' 


History  of  British  Costume.  13 

Thus  he  lay  in  state,  and  it  would  appear  that  thus  his  effigy 
was  habited. 

The  costume  during  the  reigns  of  Richard  I.  and  John  continued 
much  the  same  as  in  their  father's  time.  There  were  some  striking 
novelties  introduced  however  in  the  military  habits ;  especially,  the 
helmet  Ibst  its  lofty  cone,  and  subsided  into  a  flat-topped  steel  cap; 
the  shield  was  emblazoned  with  heraldic  bearings ;  customs  origi- 
nating probably  with  the  Crusaders.  Here  follows  our  author's 
acconnt  of  the  female  costumes  of  that  period : — 

'^  The  female  costume  of  this  century  presents  the  same  general  ap- 
pearance as  that  of  its  predecessors.  The  robe  has,  however,  lost  its 
extravagant  cuffs,  and  the  sleeves  are  made  tight  and  terminate  at  the 
wrist.  A  rich  girdle  loosely  encircles  the  waist,  and  Berengaria,  queen 
of  Richard  I.,  is  represented  with  a  small  pouch  called  an  auimoniire^ 
and  in  form  Ukc  a  modem  reticule,  depending  from  it  on  the  left  side. 

*'  Green  appears  to  have  been  the  prevailing  colour  of  this  garment  in 
the  reign  of  John.  We  have  the  king's  warrant  for  making  two  robes 
for  the  queen,  each  of  them  to  consist  of  five  ells  of  cloth,  and  one  of  them 
to  be  of  green  and  the  other  of  brunet.  Du  Cange  cites  a  cotemporary 
register  to  prove  that  a  green  robe,  lined  with  cendal,  was  estimated  at 
sixty  shillings;  and  Matthew  Paris,  and  other  ancient  historians,  speaking 
of  the  flight  of  Longchamp,  Bishop  of  Ely,  states  that  he  disguised  him- 
self in  a  woman's  tunic  of  green,  with  a  capa  (the  Norman  mantle  with 
a  capuchon)  of  the  same  colour. 

'*  State  robes  and  mantles  appear  to  have  been  splendidly  embroidered. 
The  effigy  of  Eleanor,  queen  oi  Henry  11.,  exhibits  a  robe  and  mantle 
covered  with  golden  crescents.  We  have  just  spoken  of  a  similar  one  in 
the  possession  of  her  son,  Richard  I.  Her  crown,  like  that  of  her  royal 
husband,  has  been  broken.  Montfaucon's  representation  of  it  is  there-, 
fore  placed  above  the  figure,  but  that  of  Queen  Berengaria,  which  has 
escaped  with  less  damage,  would  be  perhaps  the  better  guide  for  its  re- 
storation.    Montfaucon's  copies  are  lamentably  incorrect. 

"  Pelisses  (peUces^pelissons^jXiMj  furred  rwhence  their  name), were 
worn  i^  winter  under  the  mantle  or  capa.  King  John  orders  a  grey 
pelisson,  with  nine  bars  of  fur,  to  be  made  for  the  queen.  It  appears  to 
have  been  a  dress  fitting  close  to  the  body.  A  garment  called  hUaiU  or 
bUauSy  which  appears  to  have  been  only  another  name  for  the  surcoat  or 
supertunic,  as  we  find  it  worn  also  by  knights  over  their  armour,  is  also 
frequently  mentioned  as  lined  with  fur  for  the  winter.  The  wimple  is 
first  mentioned  in  the  reig^  of  John.  It  appears  to  have  been  sometimes 
but  another  name  for  the  veil  or  kerchief,  at  others  a  separate  article  of 
attire  worn  under  the  .veil,  as  in  the  conventual  costume  to  this  day, 
whkh  is  in  all  but  colour  the  usual  dress  of  the  thirteenth  century.  The 
wimple,  properly  so  called,  wrapped  round  the  head  an4  the  chin,  and  waa 
bound  on  the  forehead  by  a  golden  or  jewelled  fillet  amongst  the  wealthy, 
by  a  plain  single  one  amongst  the  humbler  classes.  Wimples  and  fillets 
01  silk  were  forbidden  to  the  nuus,  who  wore  them  then,  as  now.  of  white, 
linen. 

'•  Short  boots  were  worn,  as  well  as  shoes,  by  the  ladies.  King  John 
orders  four  pair  of  women's  boots,  one  of  them  to  be  fretatus  de  giris^ 
embroidered  with  circles,  atid  several  instances  occur  of  similarly  em- 


14  Hiftwy  of  Bntish  Costume. 

kmdered  boots  at  ithit  period,  but  tho  robe  was  worn  so  long  that  little 
but  the  tips  of  the  toes  are  to  be  seen  in  the  effigies  or  illunninations,  and 
the  colour  of  as  much  as  is  visible  in  the  latter  is  generally  black. 

**  Gloves  seem  not  to  have  been  generally  worn  by  ladies  of  the 
twelfth  century."— pp.  88—90. 

The  habits  of  the  d^gy  daring  the  same  era  are  thus  al- 
luded to: — 

"  The  habits  of  the  clergy  continued  exceedingly  sumptuous.  The 
princely  splendour  of  Becket  occasioned  the  French  rustics  to  exclaim, 
during  his  progress  to  Paris,  ^  What  a  wonderful  personage  the  King  of 
England  must  be,  if  his  Chancellor  can  travel  in  such  state!*  and  the 
aocounts  of  his  magnificence  in  that  city  are  so  extraordinary,  that  Lord 
Littleton,  in  his  History  of  Henry  IL,  declares  them  to  be  incredible. 
The  story  of  Henry's  struggle  widi  Be9ket  in  the  open  street,  when  the 
monarch  pulled  the  new  scarlet  capa,  lined  with  rich  furs,  from  the  back 
of  the  priest,  to  give  to  the  shivering  beggar  beside  him,  is  told  by  every 
historian;  but  these  are  only  notices  of  his  secular  garments.  In  the 
sacred  vestments  of  the  clergy  of  this  period,  the  principal  novelty  is  the 
approach  of  the  mitre  to  the  form  with  which  we  are  familiar.'^ — 
pp.  dO,  9L 

And  in  the  reign  of  Henry  IIL  this  further  notice  is  given  :— 

*'  The  richly  embroidered  garments  of  the  clergy  at  this  period  occa* 
sioned  Innocent  IV.  to  exclaim,  '  O  England,  thou  garden  of  delights, 
thou  art  truly  an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  riches  I  From  thy  abundance 
much  may  be  exacted  !'  and  he  forthwith  proceeded  to  exact  as  much  aa 
he  could,  by  forwarding  bulls  to  several  English  prelates,  enjoining  them 
to  send  a  certain  quantity  of  such  embroidered  vestments  to  Rome  for 
the  use  of  the  clergy  there.  Some  of  these  sacerdotal  habits  were  nearly 
covered  with  gold  and  precious  stones,  and  others  were  exquisitelf« 
embroidered  with  figures  of  animals  and  flowers.  The  red  hat  is  said  to* 
have  been  first  given  to  the  cardinals  by  Pope  Innocent  at  the  (Council  of 
Lyons  in  1245;  and,  according  to  De  Curbio,  they  wore  it  for  the  first 
time  in  1246,  on  occasion  of  an  interview  between  the  Pope  and  Louis 
IX.  of  France."— pp.  101, 102. 

The  author's  notice  of  Edward  I.  is  Very  just.  That  monarch 
was  indeed  both  chivalrous  and  temperate ;  hostile,  from  all  we  can 
judge,  to  preposterous  fashions  and  foppery.  He  studied  simplicity 
of  cu'ess,  and  though  there  is  no  monumental  effigy  df  him,  we  can 
perhaps  form  a  very  correct  notion  of  the  man ;  and  not  the  less 
so,  from  the  circumstance  just  mentioned,  following  out  by  a  sort 
of  contrariety,  a  determinate  class  of  ideas,  supported  by  the  facts 
that  came  to  light  on  the  opening  of  bis  tomb  in  Westminster,  in 
the  year  1774.  His  corpse  was  then  discovered,  we  are  told,  ar- 
ranged in  a  dalmatica  or  tanic  of  red  silk  damask,  and  a  mantle  of 
crimson  satin  fastened  on  the  shoulder,  with  a  gilt  buckle  or  clasp 
four  inches  in  length,  and  decorated  with  imitative  gems  and  pearls. 
The  sceptre  was  in  his  hand ;  but  the  regal  ornaments  were  all  of 
metal  gUt,  and  the  stones  and  pearls  false. 


HUtoryof  BiMah  Costuwke.  15 

Edward  II.  had  a  iroublesome  reign,  but  luxury  incoeised. 
Fjom  his  efiigy,  it  appears  that  he  cherished  and  curled  his  beard ; 
and  it  is  related  of  him,  that  he  had  to  endure  the  indignity  of 
having  it  shaved  with  cold  and  dirty  water  by  the  road-side  on  his 
way  to  Carnarvon  Castle.  The  principal  event  in  the  history  of 
British  costume  connected  with  this  reign^  is  that  lawyers  begin  to 
be  distinguished  by  their  habits.  "  They  were  originally  priests, 
and  of  course  wore  the  tonsure,  but  M^hen  the  clergy  were  lorbidden 
to  intermeddle  with  secular  affairs,  the  lay  lawyers  continued  the 

fractice  of  shaving  the  head,  and  wore  the  coil  for  distiaction  sake, 
t  was  at  first  made  of  linen,  and  afterwards  of  white  silk.  The 
serjeant-at-law's  habit  anciently  was  a  long  priest-like  robe  lined 
with  fur,  and  a  white  linen  coif." 

In  the  following  reign  important  alterations  took  place  in  dress. 

*'  The  reign  of  Edward  III.  is  one  of  the  most  important  eras  in  the 
history  of  costume.  The  complete  changes  that  take  place  in  every 
habit,  civil  or  military,  render  its  effigies  and  illuminations  more  distinctly 
conspicuous  than  those  perhaps  of  any  other  period,  from  the  Conquest  to 
the  days  of  Elizabeth.  The  effigy  of  this  great  monarch  is  remarkable 
for  its  noble  simplicity.  The  number  of  the  royal  vestments  does  not 
exceed  that  of  his  predecessors,  but  their  form  is  rather  different.  The 
dalmatica  is  lower  in  the  neck  and  shorter  in  the  sleeves  than  the  under 
tonic,  and  the  sleeves  of  the  latter  come  lower  than  the  wrist,  and  are 
deeorated  by  a  closely-set  row  of  very  small  buttons,  the  continuation  of 
a  ^hion  of  the  reign  of  Edward  I.  His  shoes  or  buskins  are  richly 
embroidered,  and  his  hair  and  beard  are  patriarchal.  He  bears  the 
remains  of  a  sceptre  in  each  hand ;  the  crown  has  been  removed  or  lost 
Imn  the  effigy. 

"In  the  thirty-seventh  year  of  his  reign,  A.D.  1363^  the  Commons 
exhibited  a  complaint  in  Parliament  against  the  general  usage  of  expen- 
sive apparel  hot  suited  either  to  the  degree  or  income  of  the  people ;  and 
an  act  was  passed  by  which  the  following  regulations  were  insisted  upon : 

"  Furs  of  ermine  and  lettice,  and  embellishments  of  pearls,  excepting 
for  a  head-dress,  were  strictly  forbidden  to  any  but  the  royal  family,  and 
nobles  possessing  upwards  of  one  thousand  poimds  per  annum. 

**'  Cloths  of  gold  and  silver,  and  habits  embroidered  with  jewellery, 
lined  with  pure  miniver  and  other  expensive  furs,  were  permitted  only 
to  knights  and  ladies  whose  incomes  exceeded  four  hundred  marks  yearly. 

"^  Knights  whose  income  exceeded  two  hundred  marks,  or  squires  pos- 
sessing two  hundred  pounds  in  lands  or  tenements,  were  permitted  to 
wear  cloth  of  silver,  with  ribands,  girdles,  &c.,  reasonably  embellished 
with  silver,  and  woollen  cloth,  of  the  value  of  six  marks  the  whole 
pece;  but  all  persons  under  the  rank  of  knighthood;  or  of  less  property 
than  the  last  mentioned,  were  confined  to  the  use  of  cloth  not  exceeding 
four  marks  the  whole  piece,  and  were  prohibited  wearing  silks  and 
embnndered  garments  of  any  sort,  or  embellishing  their  apparel  with 
any  kind  of  ornaments  of  gold,  silver,  or  jewellery.  Rings,  buckles, 
ouches,  girdles,  and  ribands,  were  all  forbidden  decorations  to  them,  and 
the  Denalty  annexed  to  the  infringement  of  this  statute  was  the  forfeiture 
of  tne  dress  or  ornament  so  made  or  worn. 


16  History  of  British  CoUumtt. 

'*  The  Scots  had  a  rhyme  about  this  period,  which  ran  thus : — 

*•  Long  belrdfl  hertiless, 
Peynted  hoods  witless, 
Qay  ootes  gracdess, 
Maketli  Englonde  thrifttess ; ' 

And  we  accordingly  find  the  beard  worn  long  and  pointed;  and  capuchons, 
with  long  peaks,  tails,  or  tippets,  as  they  were  called,  hanging  behind,  and 
closely  buttoned  up  to  the  chin  in  front.  The  *  gay  cotes  graceless '  are 
the  splendidly  embroidered  cotehardies  already  described,  and  which  it 
was  considered  by  the  graver  and  ojder  nobility  as  foppish  and  degrading 
to  wear.*'— pp.  127—131. 

We  are  not  attempting  by  any  means  to  follow  the  author  rega- 
larly  or  minutely  in  the  progress  of  changes^  throughout  the  suc- 
cessive reigns  of  England's  monarchs.  We  only  fix  therefore  on 
the  most  remarkable  alterations  or  innovations.  Of  the  ladies' 
habits^  one  thing  generally  may  be  said,  that  they  were  exceedingly 
extravagant  and  sumptuous,  and  that  many  of  then:  modes,  as 
represented  by  the  author,  would  be  well  worth  the  notice  of  the 
inventors  of  novelties  in  these  modem  times,  when  racking  their 
brains  how  best  to  deck  the  fair. 

The  author  has  taken  notice,  at  considerable  length,  of  the  long- 
disputed  origin  of  the  famous  "  Prince  of  Wales  feathers,"  and  the 
no  less  famous  epithet  of  "  Black  Prince,"  by  which  the  hero  of 
Cressy  and  Poictiers  was  distinguished.  It  would  appear  that 
there  is  much  uncertainty  on  these  matters ;  and  the  German  motto 
^*  Ich  dien,"  generally  rendered  **  I  serve,"  has  not  tended  to  ehxci- 
date  any  part  of  the  subject.  The  absurdity  is,  in  absence  of  un- 
doubtea  authority,  the  seeking  for  marvellous  or  mighty  origins  for 
things,  ''that  caprice,  some  most  trifling  circumstance,  or  quaint 
conceit,"  may  after  all  have  alone  suggested.  The  popular  tradi- 
tion which  assigns  the  motto,  "  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense,"  to  the 
gallant  indignation  of  the  mozuurch,  when  sneered  at  by  his  cour- 
tiers, on  account  of  his  attention  to  the  £all  of  a  lady's  garter,  is 
equally  destitute  of  evidence.  High  authorities  consider  tiie  garter 
afi  a  symbol  of  union,  and  to  this  or  something  else,  then,  should  be 
attibuted  the  popular  version  of  the  motto  of  the  most  noble  Order 
of  the  Garter,  which  was  instituted  in  the  twenty-second  year  of 
Edward  the  Third's  reign.  The  author,  however,  mentions  one 
ascertained  and  particular  costume  of  this  period. 

**  Mourning  habits  first  appeared  in  monuments  &nd  illuminations  of 
this  reign;  and  the  earliest  mention  of  them  also  seems  to  be  by  Chaucer 
and  Froissart,  both  writers  of  this  period.  Chaucer,  in  his  '  Knight'a 
Tale,'  speaks  of  Palamon's  appearing  at  Arcite's  funeral 

<(  <  In  clothes  black  dropped  all  viUi  tears ;' 
and  in  his  *  Troylus  and  Cresedye '  he  describes  his  heroine 

<'  '  In  widdowe's  fanbit  lai^ge  of  samite  brown ;' 

and  in  another  place  says, 

**  *  Creysede  was  in  widowe's  habit  blacka* 


Hitftory  of  BritUh  Costvme.  1 7 

and  in  another,  when  separating. from  Troylus,  he  makes  her  aay, 


<(  ( 


-my  dotkce  evereh  one 


Shall  blacke  ben  in  tolequyn  (token,)  herte  s^ete. 
That  I  am  as  oute  of  this  worlde  agone.* 

Froissart  tells  us,  that  the  Earl  of  Foix,  on  hearing  of  the  death  of  his 
son  Graston,  sent  for  his  barber,  and  was  close  shaved,  and  clothed  himself 
and  all  his  household  in  black.  At  the  funeral  of  the  Earl  of  Flanders, 
he  says,  all  the  nobles  and  attendants  wore  black  gowns ;  and  on  the  death 
of  John,  King^of  France,  the  King  of  Cyprus  clothed  himself  in  black 
mourning,  by  which  distinction  it  would  seem  that  some  other  colours 
were  occasionally  worn,  such  as  the  *  samite  brown '  of  Chaucer's  Cre- 
sey^^.  The  figures  on  the  tomb  of  Sir  Roger  de  Kerdeston,  who  died 
A..D.  1337,  represent  the  relations  of  the  deceased  knight,  and  wear  their 
own  coloured  clothes  under  the  mourning  cloak." — ^p.  148. 

In  Richard  11. 's  reign  foppery  made  a  great  figure^  he  himself 
taking  the  lead ;  his  coat  was  estimated  at  thirty  thousand  marks. 
The  common  people  imitated  the  vanity  of  the  rich.  The  effigy 
of  Henry  IV.  is  the  most  splendid,  we  are  told,  of  our  regal  series. 
He  enacted  sumptuary  laws,  in  the  fourth  year  of  his  sovereignty, 
limiting  and  directing  the  ornaments  and  dresses  to  be  worn  by 
particular  classes.  But  these  laws,  as  had  been  found  under  his 
predecessors,  were  of  little  avail.  In  Henry  V.'s  reign  no  impor- 
tant akerati<ms  took  place  in  dress.  The  next  king's  history  was 
distiiigaished  by  disorder  in  the  state,  and  no  less  irregularity  in 
the  fashions.  But  in  this  reign  the  invention  of  cannon  led  to 
most  important  changes  in  war&re,  and  ultimately  to  as  great  alte- 
itttions  in  various  other  departments.  For  our  sporting  readers 
irho  can  kill  right  and  left,  we  quote  an  account  of  the  hand- 
cannon. 

**  The  first  token  of  a  most  important  change  in  warfare  became  visible 
during  the  reign  of  Henry  VI.  The  invention  of  cannon  had  suggested 
to  the  Italians  the  use  that  might  be  made  of  a  piece  of  ordnance  small 
enough  to  be  portable,  and  the  hand-cannon  or  gouTie,  a  simple  iron  tube 
with  trunnions,  at  its  sides,  and  a  touch-hole  atop,  was  fixed  in  a  stock  of 
wood  about  a  cubit  and  a  half  in  length,  and  called  the  frame  of  the  gun. 
It  was  soon  however  discovered  that,  while  the  touch-hole  remained  atop, 
the  priming  was  likely  to  fall  off  or  be  blown  away  before  the  match  could 
jbe  applied ;  the  perforation  was  con:.equently  transferred  to  the  side,  a^d 
a  small  pan  put  under  it  to  hold  the  powder.  A  cover  for  the  pan  was 
next  invented  to  turn  off  and  on  by  means  of  a  pivot,  and  in  this  stage  it 
was  used  in  England,  certainly  as  early  as  1446,  as  appears  from  a  roll  of 
poichases  for  the  castle  on  Holy  Island,  in  the  county  of  Durham,  of  that 
date. 

*"■  A  hand-cannon  of  the  earliest  sort  with  the  touch-hole  atop,  and  a 
battle-axe  with  a  hand-g^n  united  and  the  touch  hole  placed  above  a  pan 
at  the  side,  are  in  the  armoury  at  Goodrich  Court." — p.  1 97- 

We  hasten  forward,  and  at  once  come  to  Henry  VII. 

"  At  length  we  have  emerged  into  the  broad  light  of  day.     The  pencils 
•f  Holbein,  of  Rubens,  and  Vandyke  will  henceforth  speak  volumes  to  the 
VOL.  III.  (1834.)  NO.  I.  c 


18  ffittory  of  British  Costume. 

eye,  and  lighten  the  labou»  of  the  pen.  With  this  reign  we  bid  adieu 
to  monumental  efBgies  and  illuminated  MSS.  Not  without  gratitude, 
however,  for  the  services  they  have  rendered  us  through  ages  of  darkness 
and  difficulty — i;hrough  scenes  of  barbaric  magnificence,  which,  however 
dimly  they  hiave  been  shadowed  forth,  have  vet  considerably  illustrated 
the  periods  of  their  action,  and  which  must  either  have  remained  in  'total 
eclipse — ^no  sun,  no  moon '  existing — ^no  gleam  but  the  imperfect  and 
perplexing  one  of  written  description,  or  rather  accidental  allusion  in 
obscure  and  obsolete  language,  frequently  capable  of  twenty  different 
interpretations. 

*'  The  elegant  fuhion  of  slashing  makes  its  appearance  about  this  time, 
and  the  opening  of  the  sleeve  at  the  elbow,  first  observable  in  the  costomes 
of  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.,  has  introduced  another  curious  fancy,  the  com- 
plete division  of  the  sleeve  into  two  or  more  pieces,  and  their  attachment 
to  each  other  by  means  of  points  or  laces  through  which  the  shirt  is  seen 
puffed  and  protruding. 

*'  The  hood  is  now  rapidly  disappearing.  Broad  felt  hats  or  caps,  and 
bonnets  of  velvet,  fiir,  and  other  materials,  with  a  profusion  of  party- 
coloured  plumes  projecting  sideways,  or  drooping  in  graceful  negligence 
over  the  shoulder,  have  become  general'towaxds  the  close  of  this  reign 
amongst  the  great  and  gay.  These  hats  and  caps,  many  of  them  with 
embattled  or  escalloped  edges,  are  worn  so  much  on  one  side  as  to  disco- 
ver on  the  other  a  considerable  portion  of  an  under  cap  of  gold  network, 
or  embroidered  velvet,  fitting  close  to  the  head.  The  large  plumed  cap 
iff  frequently  slung  behind  the  back  as  an  ornament,  and  the  head  sur- 
mounted, for  we  cannot  say  covered,  by  one  about  the  size  of  a  blue-coat 
boy's,  or  by  the  gold  net  before  mentioned.  One  cap,  peculiar  to  this 
period,  is  still  visible  upon  the  heads  of  the  knaves  in  our  playing  cavde ; 
and  a  pack  of  cards  in  the  possession  of  Francis  Douce,  Esq.,  F.S.A.,  en- 
graved and  printed  about  this  period,  probably  by  Marten  Schoen,  a  cele- 
brated German  artist,  who  died  in  1523,  exhibits  some  curious  and  ele- 
gant costume  of  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century. 

'*  The  shoes  were  now  worn  as  absiuxlly  broad  at  the  toes  as  they 
were  previously  peaked  or  pointed.  The  new  fashion  is  said  to  have 
commenced  in  Flanders  about  1470.  Paradin  says  that  the  two-feet  long 
poulaines  were  succeeded  by^'shoes  denominated  duck-bills,  the  toes  being 
so  shaped,  but  still  four  or  five  fingers  in  length ;  and  that  afterwards  they 
assumed  a  contrary  fiashion,  wearing  slippers  so  very  broad  in  front  as  to 
exceed  the  measure  of  a  good  foot. 

^'  The  hair  was  worn  enormously  long  and  flowing — a  return,  in  fact, 
to  the  &shion  of  Henry  I.'s  time.  The  face  was  still  closely  shaved, 
soldiers  and  old  men  only  wearing  moustaches  or  beards." — pp.  219 
—223. 

Everv  one  knows  the  images  of  "  Bluff  King  Hal/'  and  his  son 
Edwura ;  nor,  as  the  author  tells  us,  can  we  be  at  a  loss  to  know 
the  style  of  female  costume  at  any  period  of  Henrv's  reign,  since 
he  married  six  wives,  prints  of  whom  are  now  abundant. 

**  Hall  the  chronicler,  who  revels  in  the  descripticm  of  the  Sfdendid 
^hows  and  pageants  of  all  ages,  and  describes  with  as  much  minuteness 
and  confidence  those  which  took  place  in  the  fourteenth  as  he  does  those 
of  which  he  was  an  eye-witness  in  the  sixteenth  century,  may  be  trusted 


Htstory  of  British  Costume,  19 

respecting  the  latter,  at  least  as  far  as  suits  our  purpose.  At  a  banquet 
given  in  the  first  year  of  Henry's  reign,  upon  Slu-oTe-Sunday,  in  the  par- 
liament-chamber at  Westminster/he  speaks  of  six  ladies  who  formed  part 
of  a  show  towards  the  close  of  the  evening,  *  whereof  two  were  appa- 
reyled  in  crimson  satyn  and  purpull,  embrowdered  with  golde,  and  by 
vynettes  ran  floure  de  lices  of  golde,  with  marvellous  ryche  and  strange 
tires  on  their  heads :  other  two  ladies  in  crimos]m  and  purpull,  made  l£e 
long  slops,  en^broudered  and  fretted  with  golde  after  the  antique  fascion, 
and  over  the  slop  was  a  shorte  garment  of  clothe  of  golde,  scant  to  the 
knee,  fisu^ioned  like  a  tabard,  all  over  with  small  double  roUes,  all  of  flatte 
golde,  of  damask  fret  and  fringed  golde,  and  on  their  heads  skaynea 
(scarfr),  and  wraj^rs  of  damaske  golde  with  flatte  pypes,  that  strange  it 
waa  to  beholde ;  the  other  two  ladies  were  in  kirtles  of  crymosyne  and 
purpull  sa^rn,  embroudered  with  a  vynet  of  pcHnegranattes  of  golde ;  all 
the  garments  cut  compass-wise,  having  demy  sleeves,  and  naked  down 
from  the  elbows' — (the  first  appearance  of  bare  arms  since  the  time  of 
the  ancient  Britons) — ^  and  over  their  garments  were  vochettea  of  pie- 
saunces  rolled  with  crymsvne  velvet  and  set  with  letters  of  golde  like 
caractes  (query  characters  ?).  Their  heades  rouled  in  pleasauntes  and 
t3rppets  like  the  Egipicians,  embroudered  with  golde ;  their  faces,  necks, 
arms,  an^  handes  covered  in  fine  plesaunce  black ;  some  call  it  lumber- 
dynes,  which  is  marveylous  thinne  ;  so  the  same  ladies  seemed  to  be 
nigroat  or  blackmores.'  What  are  the  descriptions  of  the  court-newsman 
in  our  days  to  this  ?  What  joy  for  *  the  Morning  Post '  or  the  '  Court 
Journal '  to  have  their  columns  filled  with  a  report  of  the  dresses  worn 
at  such  a  fancy  ball  as  this  given  at  Westminster  in  1609,  'for  all  the  am^ 
basaadours  which  were  here  out  of  diverse  realmes  and  countries.'  "-^ 
pp.  247, 248. 

Oor  readers  will  easily  take  up  the  description  of  certain  parts 
of  dress,  feshionable  daring  the  reigns  of  Edward  VI.  and  Mary, 
from  the  following  allusions : — 

*«  The  reigns  of  Edward  VI.  and  Mary  introduce  us  to  the  small  flat 
round  bonnet  worn  on  one  side  the  head,  and  preserved  to  this  day  in  the 
eapa  of  the  boys  of  Christ's  Hospital,  whose  whole  dress  is  indeed  the 
coatume  of  the  citizens  of  London  at  the  time  of  the  foundation  of  that 
charity  by  the  young  and  amiable  Edward.  Blue  coats  were  the  common 
habit  of  apprentices  and  serving-men,  and  yellow  stockings  were  very 
generally  worn  at  this  period.  The  jackets  of  our  firemen  and  watermen 
are  also  of  this  date,  the  badge  being  made  in  metal  and  placed  on  the 
sleeve  in  the  sixteenth  century,  instead  of  embroidered  on  the  breast  or 
hack  of  the  garment  itself  as  previously.  Minstrels,  players,  and  all  re- 
'tainers  of  the  nobility  were  thus  attired." — pp.  251,  262. 

Bnt  a  nobler  subject  is  at  band,  and  as  the  anthor  says,  ^'  the 
great  ruff  of  good  Queen  Bess  rises  up  indignantly  at  the  bare  idea 
of  being  unknown  or  iforgotten.^' 

**  About  the  middle  of  this  reign  the  great  change  took  place  that  gave 
the  female  costume  of  the  sixteenth  century  its  remarkable  ohars^r. 
The  body  was  imprisoned  in  whalebone  t:  3  the  hips  :  the  partelet,  whieii 
eawgrad  the  neck  to  the  chin,  was  removed,  and  an  enormous  ruff,  rising 
gradually  from  the  front  of  the  shoulders  to  nearly  the  height  of  the  head 

c2 


20  History  of  Bntisk  Costume, 

behind,  encircled  the  wearer  like  the  nimbus  or  glory  of  a  saint.  FVom 
the  bosom,  now  partially  discovered,  descended  an  interminable  stomacher, 
on  each  side  of  which  jutted  out  horizontally  the  enormous  vardingale^ 
the  prototype  of  that  modern-antique,  the  hoop,  which  has  been  so  lately 
banished  the  court,  to  the  great  joy  of  all  classes  of  his  majesty's  subjects 
saving  only  the  metropolitan  dressmakers.  The  cap  or  coif  was  occa- 
9ionally  exchanged  for  a  round  bonnet  like  that  of  the  men,  or  the  hair 
dressed  in  countless  curls,  and  adorned  with  ropes  and  stars  of  jewels,  and 
at  the  close  of  the  reign  (for  the  first  time)  with  feathers.** — pp.  256,  257. 

We  are  told  by  the  author,  that,  in  1564,  Mistress  Dinghana 
Vander  Plasse,  a  Fleming,  came  to  London  with  her  husband,  and 
followed  the  profession  of  a  starcher  of  rutk.  She  met  with  the 
greatest  encouragement  from  the  higher  orders,  and  taught  publicly 
her  art,  her  price  being  four  or  five  pounds  for  each  scholar,  and 
twenty  shillings  in  addition  for  teaching  them  how  to  seethe  or 
make  the  starch.  But  our  readers  must  have  the  following  treat, 
as  served  up  by  the  author  himself. 

**Stubb  falls  foul  of  this '  liquid  matter  which  they  call  starch,'  wherein 
he  says  ^  the  devil  hath  learned  them  to  wash  and  dive  their  ruffs,  which 
being  dry  will  then  stand  stiff  and  inflexible  about  their  necks.'  It  was 
made  he  tells  us  of  wheat  flour,  bran,  or  other  grains,  sometimes  of  roots 
aitd  other  things,  and  of  all  colours  and  hues,  as  white,  red,  blue,  purple, 
and  the  like..  He  mentions  also  a  certain  device  made  of  wires,  crested 
for  the  purpose,  and  whipped  all  over  either  with  gold,  thread,  silver,  or 
silk,'  for  supporting  these  ruffs,  and  called  a  ^suppertasse  or  under-proper.' 
These  *  great  ruffs  or  neckerchers,  made  of  hollande,  lawne,  cambric,  and 
such  cloth,'  so  delicate  that  the  greatest  thread  in  them  '  shall  not  be  so 
big  as  the  least  hair  that  is,'  starched,  streaked,  dried,  patted,  and  under- 
propped by  the  suppertasses, '  the  stately  arches  of  pride,'  sometimes  over- 
shadowed three  or  four  orders  of  minor  ruffs  placed  gradatim  one  beneath 
the  other,  and  all  under  '  the  master-devil  ruff,'  which  was  itself  clogged 
with  gold,  silver,  or  silk  lace  of  stately  price,  wrought  all  over  with  needle- 
work, speckled  and  sparkled  here  and  there  with  the  sun,  the  moon,  the 
stars,  and  many  other  antiques  strange  to  behold  :  some  are  wrought  with 
open  work  down  to  the  midst  of  the  ruff  and  further ;  some  with  close 
work  ;  some  with  purlid  lace  and  other  gegaws,  so  clogged,  so  pestered, 
that  the  ruff  is  the  least  part  of  itself.  Sometimes  they  are  pinned  up  to 
their  ears,  and  sometimes  they  are  suffered  to  hang  over  the  shoulders 
like  flags  or  windmill  sails  fluttering  in  the  air. 

"  Their  gowns,  continues  the  satirist,  be  no  less  famous  than  the  rest, 
for  some  are  of  silk,  some  of  velvet,  some  oi  grograin^  some  of  taffata,  some 
of  scarlet,  and  some  of  fine  cloth,  of  ten,  twenty,  or  forty  shillings  the 
yard;  but  if  the  whole  garment  be  not  of  silk  or  velvet,  then  the  same 
must  be  layed  w^ith  Ince  two  or  three  fingers  broad  all  over  the  gown ;  or 
if  lace  is  not  fine  enough  for  them,  he  says  they  must  be  decorated  with 
broad  gardes  of  velvet  edged  with  costly  lace.  The  fashions  too  of  the 
gown  were  as  various  as  its  colours,  and  '  changing  with  the  moon ;  for 
some  be  of  the  new  fashion,  and  some  of  the  olde ;  some  with  sleev^i 
hanging  down  to  the  skirts  trailing  on  the  ground,  and  cast  over  their 
shoulders  like  cow- tails ;  some  have  sleeves  much  shorter,  cut  up  the  arm. 


History  of  British  Costume,  21 

drawn  out  with  sundry  colours,  and  pointed  with  silk  ribbands,  and  very 
gallantly  tied  with  Ioyq  knotts,  for  so  they  call  them/  Some  had  capes 
reaching  down  to  the  middle  of  their  backs  faced  with  velvet  or  ^ne 
taffata,  and  *  fringed  about  very  bravely ;'  others  were  plaited  and  crested 
down  the  back  '  wonderfully,  with  more  knacks '  than  he  can  express. 

"  Their  petticoats,  he  says,  were  of  the  best  cloth  and  the  finest  die, 
and  even  of  silk,  grograin,  &c.,  fringed  about  the  skirts  with  silk  of  a 
changeable  colour.  *  But  what  is  more  vain,*  he  adds,  '  of  whatever  the 
petticoat  be,  yet  must  they  have  kirtles^  for  so  they  call  them,  of  silk, 
velvet,  grograin,  taffata,  satin,  or  scarlet,  bordered  with  gards,  lace,  fringe, 
and  T  cannot  tell  what.'  Here  the  kirtle  is  again  distinguished  from  the 
gown  and  petticoat,  and  is  evidently  the  garment  worn  immediately  under 
the  gown,  and  at  this  time  completely  discovered  by  it,  the  skirt  or  train 
of  the  gown  or  robe  being  only  just  visible  on  each  side  of  the  figure. 

"  The  nether  stocks  or  stockings,  we  are  told,  were  of  silk,  jarnsey, 
worsted,  cruel,  or  the  finest  yarn,  thread  or  cloth  that  could  possibly  be 
had;  and  they  were  'not  ashamed  to  wear  hose  of  all  kinds  of  changeable 
colours,  as  green,  red,  white,  russet,  tawney,  and  else  what  not  * — ^'cun- 
ningly knit'  too,  and  'curiously  indented  in  every  point  with  quirks, 
cloeks,  open  seams,  and  every  thing  else  accordingly.'  " — pp.  258 — 260. 

We  dare  not  indulge  our  friends  with  more  of  this  quaint  satir* 
ist's  matter ;  for  ere  he  reached  the  lords  of  the  creation,  he  is 
allowed  by  our  author  to  say  something  more  of  the  ladies  of 
Elizabeth's  time.  We  jump  at  once  to  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  and 
give  the  following  extrf^ct  chiefly  for  the '  judicious  criticism  con- 
tained in  it. 

*'  The  reign  of  Charles  I.,  1625 — 1648«  introduces  us  to  the  most  ele- 
gant and  picturesque  costiune  ever  worn  in  England,  and,  from  the  cir- 
cumstance of  its  being  the  habit  of  the  time  in  which  Vandyke  painted, 
it  has  acquired  the  appellation  of  the  Vandyke  dress.  It  has  been  fami- 
liarized to  us  not  only  by  the  numberless  prints  from  the  works  of  that 
great  master,  but  through  the  medium  of  theatrical  representations,  being, 
of  all  costumes,  perhaps  the  best  adapted  for  the  stage,  and  therefore  gene- 
rally selected  for  such  plays  as  are  not  fixed  by  their  subject  to  some  other 
particular  era.  For  the  same  reason,  with  pardonable  licence,  playa 
founded  on  inddents  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  are  acted  in  costumes. of 
the  reign  of  Charles  I. ;  but  the  point  was  rather  stroined  by  the  late  Mr. 
Kemble,  who  formed  out  of  the  habits  of  the  three  reigns  of  Elizabeth, 
James,  and  Charles  a  conventional  costume  for  the  whole  of  Shakspeare*s 
historical  plays,  from  King  John  to  Henry  VIII.  The  intention  was, 
however,  a  laudable  one.  Mr.  Garrick  had  broken  ground,  by  assuming 
a  fancy  dress  for  the  part  of  Richard  III.,  but  he  played  Macbeth  to  the 
last  in  a  codrt  suit  of  sky-blue  and  scarlet  laced  with  gold.  Mr.  Kemble^s 
good  sense  and  determined  spirit  induced  him  to  reform  this  altogether ; 
and  though,  to  the  antiquary,  it  was  as  ridiculous  to  see  the  *  gracious 
Duncan*  in  trunk-hose  as  in  velvet  breeches  and  silk  stockings,  the 
absurdity  was  not  so  striking  to  the  million,  and  stage  effect  was  infinitely 
he^tened  by  the  ch  ;nge.  Of  late  years  the  taste  for  spectacle  lus  at  least 
kuithe  good  effect  of  inducing  managers  and  actors  to  pay  stricter  attention 
td  these  matters,  and  two  or  three  of  Shakspeare's  plays  were  revived  a  few 
sASona  back  at'Covent  Garden  Theatre,  with  their  costume  corrected  by 


92  HUtory  of  British  CoMtume. 

the  writer  of  this  work,  under  the  sanctioa  of  Mr.  Charles  Kemble." — 
pp.  282,  283. 

Contrast  the  dcKriptions  in  the  two  paragraphe  that  we  now 
present. 

^*  At  the  commencement  of  the  civil  war,  wben  the  rcnralist  party  began 
to  be  denominated  Cavaliers,  and  the  republican  Romn-fieads,  the  cos- 
tume of  England  was  as  divided  as  its  opinions ;  but  the  dress  of  the 
Cavalier  was  gallant  and  picturesque  in  the  extreme.  It  consisted  of  a 
doublet  of  silk,  satin,  or  velvet,  with  large  loose  sleeves,  slashed  up  the 
front ;  the  collar  covered  by  a  falling  band  of  the  richest  point  lace,  with 
that  peculiar  edging  now  called  Vandyke ;  a  short  cloak  was  worn  care- 
lessly on  one  Moulder.  The  long  breeches,  fringed  or  pointed,  as  we 
have  already  mentioned,  met  the  tops  of  the  wide  boots,  which  were  also 
ruffled  with  lace  or  lawn.  A  broad-leafed  Flemish  beaver  hat,  with  a 
rich  hatband  and  plume  of  feathers,  was  set  on  one  side  the  head,  and  a 
Spanish  rapier  hung  from  a  most  magnificent  baldrick  or  sword-belt, 
worn  sashwise  over  the  right  shoulder.  The  doublet  of  silk  or  velvet 
was  frequentlv  exchanged  in  these  troublesome  times  for  a  buff  coat, 
which  was  richly  laced,  and  sometimes  embroidered  with  g^ld  or  silver, 
and  encircled  by  a  broad  silk  or  satin  scarf  tied  in  a  large  bow,  either 
behind  or  over  the  hip,  in  which  case  the  short  cloak  was  perhaps  dis- 
pensed with.  In  some  instances  a  buff  jerkin,  without  sleeves,  was 
worn  over  the  doublet.  Allusions  are  frequent  in  the  old  plays  of  this 
period  to  these  defensive  garments.  Cliarles  I.,  in  the  twelfth  year  of 
his  reign,  determined  to  restore  the  mantle  of  the  order  of  the  garter  to 
its  original  colour,  and  it  was  accordingly  worn,  on  the  installation  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  of  a  rich  celestial  blue ;  the  surcoat  and  humerale  re- 
mained crimson ;  the  hat  was  of  black  velvet  as  before.  As  early  as  the 
second  year  of  his  reign  he  had  ordered  the  badge  of  the  order  (the  cross 
surrounded  by  the  garter)  to  be  worn  by  the  knights  on  their  daily 
dresses,  and  in  1629  it  was  formed  into  a  star  by  surrounding  it  with  rays 
as  it  is  at  present." — ^pp.  284,  285. 

Sir  Philip  Warwick  is  the  authority  for  what  follows;  he  is 
speaking  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

**  *  The  first  time  that  I  ever  took  notice  of  him,'  says  that  gentleman, 
*  was  in  the  beginning  of  the  Parliament  held  in  November,  1640,  when  I 
vainly  thought  myself  a  courtly  young  gentleman,  for  we  courtiers  valued 
ourselves  much  upon  our  good  clothes.  I  came  one  mourning  into  the 
house  well  clad,  and  perceived  a  gentleman  speaking  whom  I  knew  not, 
very  ordinarily  apparelled ;  for  it  was  a  plain  cloth  suit,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  made  by  an  ill  country  tailor ;  his  linen  was  plain,  and  not  very 
clean ;  and  I  remember  a  speek  or  two  of  blood  upon  his  Jittle  band,  which 
was  not  much  larger  than  his  collar ;  his  hat  was  without  a  hatband ;  his 
stature  was  of  a  good  size ;  his  sword  stuck  close  to  his  side.' " — pp.  285» 
286. 

We  had  proposed  to  ourselves  to  have  gone  along  with  the  author 
into  the  monstrosities  which  distinguished  the  earlier  part  of 
Geoxge  III.'s  reign,  in  the  matter  of  dress  curls,  powdar  andThoo^, 
and  then  into  the  more  picturesque  fields  presented  by  the  sister 


/iffl^,  with  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Porlttgai.  93 

kingdoms.  But  we  must,  instead  of  doing  so,  recommend  every 
one  who  has  a  taste  for  national  antiquities,  pleasantly  and  ably 
dereloped  within  a  small  compass,  to  have  reooune  to  the  work 
upon  which  we  have  been  now  engaged.  And  though  those  anti- 
qoities  be  confined  to  the  matters  of  dress  in  the  field,  or  only  by 
me  fire-side,  they  will  be  found,  as  here  treated,  highly  worthy  the 
stady  of  the  sagacious,  as  well  as  instructive  and  delightful  to  the 
young. 


A^T.  UI. — Ualt/,  with  Sketelies  of  Spam  and  Portugal.  By  the  Author 

of  Vathek,  2  vols.,  London :  Beniley,  1834. 

Every  year  some  half  dozen  or  so  of  tours  in  Germany,  Italy, 
or  other  parts  of  the  continent  are  laid  upon  our  table,  all  courteous- 
ly to  bespeak  our  favourable  judgment  of  their  contents,  which  we 
generallv  very  good  naturedly  accord  to  them.  For  besides  the  kind- 
liness of  our  deposition,  we  are  of  the  erratic  class ;  and  know  that 
it  would  be  very  difficult  for  anv  one  who  set  out  to  wander  for 
months  from  city  to  city,  and  kingdom  to  kingdom,  resolved  to 
note  every  thing  that  particularly  engaged  his  attention,  not  to  fur- 
nish an  entertaining  volume  or  two.  To  be  sure  it  might  be  sup- 
posed that  Germany,  Italy,  and  so  forth,  were  by  this  time  worn 
almost  threadbare,  were  we  merely  to  count  the  number  of  cockneys 
that  have  fatigued  themselves  therewith.  But  we  are  not  of  that 
way  of  thinking,  we  believe  that  a  field  or  path  cannot  be  soon  too 
much  beaten,  provided  every  new  traveller  be  accomplished  and 
discerning  enough  for  the  department  he  enters  on  provided  he, 
without  affectation,  employs  his  own  original  powers  in  marking  and 
characterising  what  comes  before  him.  We  therefore  do  not  complain 
of  the  taste  of  any  tourist,  who  lays  his  observations  before  us  merely 
cm  the  ground  that  nothing  was  left  for  him  to  say  or  see  anew, 
even  although  such  should  be  the  &ct,  which  however  will  seldom 
occur;  for  it  is  the  most  attractive  of  all  things  to  watch  and  dis- 
tinguish the  variety  of  modes  in  which  different  spectators  look  upon 
one  thing,  surpassing  the  sight  of  a  great  variety  of  novel  scenes, 
presented  by  one  spectator.  In  the  former  instance,  the  marvel- 
lous phenomena  exhibited  are  the  workings  and  diversities  of  mind ; 
in  the  latter,  it  is  but  one  mind  to  an  immense  number  of  scenes  and 
subjects.  A  better  exemplification  of  our  doctrine  cannot  well  be 
founds  than  in  the  field  which  the  work  before  us  occupies  at  consi- 
derable length.  Nor  shall  we  require  to  do  more  to  make  ourselves 
understood  than  refer  to  the  objects  taken  up  in  common  by  the 
anthor  and  Mrs.  Trollope,  as  may  be  at  once  perceived  by  turning 
back  to  onr  last  number.  We  could  mention  a  number  of  other 
late  woiks  where  comparisons  and  parallels  might  be  drawn ;  but 
the  instance  cited  is  sufficient  for  our  purpose.  Nor  do  we  doubt, 
that  another  batch  of  English  tourists  to  the  same  countries  is 


^4  Italy,  with  Sketches  of  Spain  dnd  Portugal^ 

even  this  summer  ardently  preparing  themselves  for  oht  revieir 
ere  twelvemonths  have  fled  over  us  from  the  present  date. 

We  think,  however,  that  there  is  a  line  for  travellers,  not  yet 
very  often,  and  still  more  rarely  well  followed  out,  where  the  mate- 
rials to  be  found  would  furnish  for  the  appetite  that  greedily  craves 
for  novelties,  abundant  pleasure  and  profit;  we  mean  the  odd,  the 
bye,  and  the  sequestered — if  you  will,  the  humble  ways  df  life.  In 
short,  the  peasantry,  of  the  continent,  not  in  their  picturesque  or 
romantic  positions  but  in  their  homely  and  every  oay  character, 
have  not  hitherto  been  sufficiently  depicted.  There  have  been  pe- 
destrian tours,  but  we  have  never  found  in  them  much  more  than 
the  sketchy  drawings  of  an  amateur  in  the  fine  arts,  or  the  fabu- 
lous accounts  of  caterers  for  a  circulating  library.  And  yet  the  pea- 
santry of  any  country  are  alone  the  faithful  custodiers  and  portraits 
of  nationalities.  All  large  towns  are  necessarily  much  alike ;  the 
diifereuce  between  one  hotel  and  another  can  never  give  the  fresh 
truth  as  regards  original  peculiarities  of  character,  descriptive  of  any 
country.  But  did  the  tourist  we  have  in  our  mind's  eye,  with  all  the 
leisure  and  composure  of  an  observant  and  judicious  traveller,  who 
cared  not  how  long  a  minute  study  of  the  domestic  manners  of  a 
people  took,  set  himself  abroad  amongst  a  peasantry,  the  variety 
of  knowledge  obtained  of  domestic  economy  and  discipline,  of  rural 
arts  and  practices,  would  be  eminently  useJiil  and  delightful.  We 
would  have  such  a  tourist  avoid  all  formal  routes,  and  be  prepared 
to  go  and  to  follow  out  every  thing  as  the  wind,  so  to  speak,  blew 
him;  but  no  longer  to  tarry  at  the  threshold.  How  imperfect 
must  our  acquaintance  have  been  with  the  national  character  of  the 
Scotch,  had  it  alone  been  derived  from  the  fashionable  ladies  and 
gentlemen  who  have  of  late  years  posted  from  town  to  town,  seldom 
leaving  his  Majesty's  macadamized  highways  ;  or  from  the  pencil- 
men,  who  have  been  in  raptures  about  mountains,  tartan,  and  whis- 
ky ?  He  of  the  kilt,  or  the  still  more  worthy  subject  of  study, 
lie  of  the  blue  bonnet,  might,  in  spite  of  all  these  efforts,  have  re- 
mained till  this  hour  as  inadequately  understood  as  do  the  s^rfs 
of  Russia. 

But  be  all  this  as  it  may,  no  doubt  need  be  entertained  of  what  the 
author  of  Vathek  can  do,  set  him  down  any  where ;  especially  if 
Italy  be  the  principal  field  of  excursion  to  which  he  is  destined. 
And  more  epecially  will  he  recommend  himself  to  any  one's  notice, 
pliould  it  be  understood,  that,  as  he  declares,  the  work  has  lain 
dormant  for  many  years  ;  1780,  being  the  date  he  prefixed  to  his 
letters  from  the  continent.  Our  duty  however  is  to  open  the  book, 
and  let  our  readers  judge  of  its  merits.  They  will  do  more  ;  they 
cannot  but  be  gratified  with  the  fare  light,  lively  and  highly  sea- 
soned as  it  uniformly  is. 

The  author  treats  Ostend,  Ghent,  and  Antwerp  very  cursorily. 
He  tells  us  that  ''quiet  and  content"  are  the  two  Deities  that  have 
especially  taken  Flanders  under  their  protection,  and  he  pleases  to 
be  sarcastic  upon  them.     We  will  hasten  on  with  him  to  Cologne, 


Ao/y,  with  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Portugal.  35 

HJiert  a  celebrated  Shrine;  that  cost  Mrs.  Trollope  a  deal  of  mar- 
vel and  reverence,  is  thus  treated : 

'*  July  10th. — Clouds  of  dust  hindered  my  making  any  remarks  on 
the  exterior  of  this  famous  city ;  hut  if  its  appearance  he  not  more  heau- 
tiful  from  without  than  within,  I  defy  the  most  courteous  compiler  of 
geographical  dictionaries  to  launch  forth  very  warmly  in  its  praise.  But 
of  what  avail  are  stately  palaces,  broad  streets,  or  airy  markets,  to  a 
town  which  can  boast  of  such  a  treasure  as  the  bodies. of  those  three  wise 
sovereigns  who  were  started  to  Bethlehem  ?  Is  not  this  circumstance 
enough  to  procure  it  every  kind  of  respect?  I  really  believe  so,  from 
the  pious  and  dignified  contentment  of  its  inhabitants.  They  care  not 
a  hair  of  an  ass's  ear  whether  their  houses  be  gloomy  and  ill-contrived, 
their  pavement  overgrown  with  weeds,  and  their  shops  half  choked  up 
with  filthiness,  provided  the  carcasses  of  Gaspar,  Melchior,  and  Balthazar 
might  be  preserved  with  proper  decorum.  Nothing,  to  be  sure,  can  be 
richer  than  the  shrine  which  contains  these  precious  relics.  I  paid  my 
devotions  before  it  the  moment  I  arrived;  this  step  was  inevitable:  had 
I  omitted  it,  not  a  soul  in  Cologne  but  would  have  cursed  me  for  a  Pagan. 
Do  you  not  wonder  at  hearing  of  those  venerable  bodieB  so  far  ft'om 
their  native  country  ?  I  thought  them  snug  under  some  Arabian  cupola, 
ten  feet  deep  in  spice  ;  but  who  can  tell  what  is  to  become  of  one  a  few 
ages  hence  ?  Who  knows  but  the  Emperor  of  Morocco  may  be 
canonized  some  future  day  ia  Lapland  ?  I  asked,  of  course,  how  in  the 
name  of  miracles  they  came  hither  ?  but  found  no  story  of  a  superna- 
tural conveyance.  It  seems  that  great  coUectress  of  relics,  the  holy 
Empress  Helena,  first  routed  them  out :  then  they  were  packed  off  to 
Rome;  King  Alaric,  having  no  grace,  bundled  them  down  to  Milan; 
where  they  remained  till  it  pleased  heaven  to  inspire  an  ancient  arch- 
bishop with  the  fervent  wish  of  depositing  them  at  Cologne;  there  these 
skeletons  were  taken  into  the  most  especial  consideration,  crowned  with 
jewels,  and  filagreed  with  gold.  Never  were  skulls  more  elegantly  ' 
mounted ;  and  I  doubt  whether  Odin's  beauffet  cpuld  exhibit  so  fine  an 
assortment.  The  chapel  containing  these  beautiful  bones  is  placed  in  a 
dark  extremity  of  the  cathedral.  Several  golden  lamps  gleam  along  the 
polished  marbles  with  which  it  is  adorned,  and  afford  just  .light  enough 
to  read  the  following  monkish  inscription  : — '  Corpora  sanctorum  rectu- 
bant  hie  terna  magorum  :  ex  his  svhlaium  nihil  est  alibive  locatum,^ " — 
pp,  42 — 44. 

He  sets  off  for  Bonn,  the  roadside  being  lined  he  tells  us  with 
beggarly  children,  high  convent  walls,  and  scarecrow  crucifixes, 
lubberly  monks,  dejected  peasants,  and  all  the  delights  of  Catho- 
licism. From  Bonn  to  Audemach,  he  describes  the  picturesque 
borders  of  the  Rhine ;  and  the  road  sometimes  as  being  like  a 
cornice  suspended  above  the  waters^  at  other  times,  it  winds  behind 
lofty  steeps  and  broken  acclivities,  shaded  by  woods,  and  clothed 
with  an  endless  varietv  of  plants  and  flowers.  The  contrast  of  the 
objects  that  bordered  nis  path  were  therefore  not  unworthy  of  ob- 
servation. Ems,  famous  in  mineral  story,  Ulm,  and  the  Danube 
sweeping  majestically  along,  and  the  renowned  city  of  Augsburg, 
have  all  a  touch  from  his  pencil,  which  is  not  uniformly  sparing  or 


36  Itmlf^wUkSaoAeknfif  SfmmtmdPitrHtgiA. 

flflttniag;  ''  Joy  to  the  eleetan  of  Baivam  !^  etdimm  he,  far 
pregorving  Buch  extensive  woods  of  fir  in  their  dominions^  as  shade 
over  the  chief  part  of  the  road  from  Augsburg  to  Munich.  The' 
stagnate  pools' and  the  regaling  dunghills  near  the  last-mentioned 
city,  serving  for  a  kind  of  contrariety,  he  is  not  unwilling  to  intro- 
duce into  his  sketches.  Our  readers  will  ei^oy  the  picture,  or 
rather  variety  of  pictures,  that  follow : — 

• 

*•  July  23. — ^We  were  driven  in  the  evening  to  Nynphenbure,  the  Elec- 
tor's country  palace,  the  bosquets,  jets  d*eaux,  and  parterres  of  which  are 
the  pride  of  the  Bavarians.  The  principal  platform  is  all  of  a  glitter,  with 
gilded  Cupids  and  shining  serpents  spouting  at  every  pore.  Beds  of  poppies, 
hollyhocks,  scarlet  iychins,  and  other  flame-coloured  flowers,  border  the 
edge  of  the  walls,  which  extend  till  the  perspective  appears  to  meet  and 
swarm  with  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  party-coloured  raiment.  The  Queen 
of  Golconda's  gardens  in  a  French  opera  are  scarcely  more  gaudy  ai|d 
artificial.  Unluckily,  too,  the  evening  was  fine,  and  the  sun  so  powerful, 
that  we  were  half- wasted  before  we  could  cross  the  great  avenue  and 
enter  the  thickets  which  barely  conceal  a  very  splendid  hermitage,  where 
we  joined  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevor  and  a  party  of  fashionable  Bavarians. 
Amongst  the  ladies  was  Madame  la  Contesse — ^I  forget  who,  a  production 
of  the  venerable  Haslang,  with  dai^hter,  Madame  de  Baumgarten,  who 
has  the  honour  of  leading  the  Elector  in  her  chains.  These  goddesses, 
stepjnng  into  a  car,  vulgarly  called  a  curricle,  the  mortals  followed  and 
explored  alley  after  alley,  and  pavilion  after  pavilion.  Then,  having 
viewed  Pagodenberg,  wluch  is,  as  they  told  me,  aU  Chinese ;  and  Marien- 
burg,  which  is  most  assuredly  all  tinsel,  we  paraded,  by  a  variety  of  foun- 
tains in  full  sqiurt,  and  though  they  certainly  did  their  best,  (for  many 
were  set  going  on  purpose),  I  cannot  say  I  greatly  admired  them. 

^  The  ladies  were  very  g^ily  attired,  and  the  gentlemen,  as  smart  as 
swords,  bags,  and  pretty  clothes  could  make  them,  looked  exactly  like  the 
fine  people  one  sees  represented  on  Dresden  porcelain.  Thus  we  kept 
walking  about  the  orangery  till  the  carriage  drew  up  and  conveyed  us  to 
Mr.  Trevor's.  Immediately  after  supper,  we  drove  once  more  out  of 
town,  to  a  garden  and  tea-room,  where  all  degrees  and  ages  dance 
jovially  till  morning.  Whilst  one  party  wheel  briskly  away  in  the  waltz, 
another  amuse  themselves  in  a  comer  with  cold  meat  and  rhenish.  That 
despatched,  out  they  whisk  amongst  the  dancers,  with  an  impetuosity 
and  liveliness  I  little  expected  to  have  found  in  Bavaria.  After  turning 
round  and  round,  with  a  rapidity  ^t  is  quite  astounding  to  an  English 
dancer,  the  music  changes  to  a  slower  movement,  and  then  follows  a 
succession  of  zig-zag  minuets,  performed  by  old  and  young,  straight 
and  crooked,  noble  and  plebeian,  all  at  once,  from  one  end  of  the  room 
to  the  other.  Tallow  candles  snufiing  and  stinking,  dishes  changii^,  at 
the  risk  of  showering  down  upon  you  their  savoury  contents,  heads 
scratching,  and  all  sorts  of  performances  going  on  at  the  same  moment, 
the  flutes,  oboes,  and  bassoons  snorting,  gprunting,  and  whining  with 
peculiar  emphasis  i  now  &8t,  now  slow,  just  as  Variety  commands,  who 
seems  to  rule  the  ceremonial  of  this  motley  assembly,  where  every  dis- 
tinction of  rank  and  privilege  is  totally  forgotten.  Once  a  week,— on 
Sundays,  that  is  to  say,  the  rooms  are  open,  and  Monday  is  generally  far 
advanced  before  they  are  deserted.    If  good  humour  and  coarse  merri- 


72«/y,  wHk  Shtchee  of  Spain  ami  Portugai.  97 

ment  ar»  M  that  people  desire,  here  they  ue  to  be  fouad  in  perfaotioii." 
—pp.  64 — ffj. 

The  author^  it  wiU  be  observed,  is  partial  to  high  colouring.  We 
remember  that  Mrs.  Trollope,  to  whom  we  have  already  luhMtdlj 
in  her  Belgian  and  German  tour,  waa  every  now  and  tiben  so  over 
head  and  ears  m  admixatian  nf  ciinrrhwij  mrines  and  relics,  as  to 
be  totafly  ngnedkmi  of  any  more  sacred  ]^rinciples  than  those  re* 
cpgniaea  in  the  pursuit  of  an  artist  or  antiquarian.  But  the  pre- 
sent author  says  to  his  correspondent,  '^  if  you  are  as  much  tired 
with  reading  my  voluminous  descriptions,  as  I  was  with  the  con- 
tinual repetition  of  altars  and  reliquaries,  the  Lord  have  mercy 
upon  you !"  a  feelmg  fully  as  rational,  in  our  estimation,  as  the 
other  :  and  yet  expressed,  we  have  no  doubt,  to  ^ve  a  richer  efiect 
to  his  descriptions  of  such  things.  The  following  passages  will 
show,  that  the  author  is  not  only  studiously  ornate,  but  not  unwil- 
ling to  recur  to  religious,  or,  if  you  choose,  superstitious  observances. 
He  is  now  at  a  hamlet  called  Mittenwald,  in  the  Tyrol 

"  Our  inn  had  long  airy  galleries,  with  pleasant  balconies  fronting  the 
mountains ;  in  one  of  these  we  dined  upon  trout,  fresh  from  the  rills, 
and  cherries,  just  cidled  from  the  orchards  that  cover  the  slopes  above. 
The  clouds  were  dispersing,  and  the  topmost  peaks  half  visible,  before 
We  ended  our  rexnst,  everv  moment  discovering  some  inaccessible  cliff 
or  summit  shining  through  the  mists,  and  tinted  by  the  sun  with  pale 
golden  colours.  These  appearances  filled  me  with  such  deHght,  and  with 
such  a  train  of  romantic  associations,  that  I  left  the  table  wad  ran  to  an 
open  field  beyond  the  huts  and  gardens,  to  gaze  in  solitude  and  catch  the 
vision  before  it  dissolved  away.  You,  if  any  human  being  is  able,  may 
conceive  true  ideas  of  the  glowing  vapours  sailing  over  the  pointed 
rocks,  and  brightening  them  in  their  passive  with  amber  light.  When 
all  was  faded  and  lost  in  the  blue  ether,  I  had  time  to  look  around  me 
and  notice  the  mead  on  which  I  was  staioding.  Here  clover  covered  its 
surface;  there,  crous  of  grain;  further  on,  beds  of  herbs  and  the 
sweetest  flowers.  An  amphitheatre  of  hills  and  rocks,  broken  into  a 
variety  of  ^ens  and  precipices,  open  a  course  for  several  clear  rivulets, 
which,  after  gurgling  amidst  loose  stones  and  fragments,  fall  down  the 
steeps  and  are  concealed  and  quieted  in  the  herbage  of  the  vale.  A  cot- 
tage or  two  peep  out  of  the  woods  that  hang  over  the  water-falls ;  on  the 
brow  of  the  hills  above  appears  a  series  of  eleven  little  chapels,  uni- 
formly built.  I  followed  the  narrow  path  that  leads  to  them,  on  the  edge 
of  the  eminences,  and  met  a  troop  of  beautiful  peasants,  all  of  the  name 
of  Anna  (for  it  was  St  Anna's  day"),  going  to  pay  their  devotions  seve- 
rally at  these  neat  white  fi&nes.  There  were  faces  that  Guercino  would 
not  have  disdained  copying,  with  braids  of  hair  the  softest  and  most  lux- 
uriant I  ever  beheld.  Seme  had  wreathed  it  simply  with  flowers,  others 
with  rolls  of  thin  linen  (manufactured  in  the  neighbourhood),  and  dis- 
posed it  with  a  degree  of  elegance  one  should  not  have  expected  on  the 
cliffs  of  the  Tyrol. 

*'  Being  arrived,  they  knelt  all  together  at  the  first  chapel,  on  the  steps, 
a  minute  or  two,  whispered  a  short  prayer,  and  then  dispersed  each  to 
her  own  fane.    Every  little  building  had  now  its  fair  worshipper,  and 


28  Italy,  with  Sketches  of  Spain  ofid  Portugal. 

you  may  well  conceive. how  much  such  figures  scattered  about  the  land- 
scape increased  its  charms.  Notwithstanding  the  fervour  of  adonUion* 
(for  at  intervals  they  sighed,  and  beat  their  white  bosoms  with  energy^ 
several  bewitching  profane  glances  were  cast  at  me  as  1  passed  by.  Do 
not  be  surprised,  then,  if  I  became  a  convert  to  idolatry  in  so  amiable  a 
form,  and  worshipped  St.  Anna  on  the  score  of  her  namesakes." — 
pp.  7^-79. 

But  now  for  Italy,  and  on  to  Venice,  the  city  of  Gondolas,  Gal- 
leries, Serenades,  and  Carnivals  :  we  give  two  short  extracts,  de- 
scriptive of  Venetian  manners  and  character  : — 

*'  Many  of  the  noble  Venetians  have  a  little  suite  of  apartments  in 
some  out-of-the-way  comer,  near  the  grand  piazza,  of  which  their  fami- 
lies are  totally  ignorant.  To  these  they  skulk  in  the  dusk,  and  revel  un- 
disturbed with  the  companions  of  their  pleasures.  Jealousy  itself  cannot 
discover  the  alleys,  the  winding  passages,  the  unsuspected  doors,  by 
which  these  retreats  are  accessible.  Many  an  unhappy  lover,  whose 
mistress  disappears  on  a  sudden  with  some  fortunate  rival,  has  searched 
her  haunts  in  vain.  The  gondoliers  themselves,  though  the  prime 
managers  of  intrigtAe^  are  often  unacquainted  with  interior  cabinets. 
When  a  gallant  has  a  mind  to  pursue  his  adventures  with  mystery,  he 
rows  to  the  piazza,  orders  his  bark  to  wait,  meets  his  goddess  in  the 
crowd,  ^nd  vanishes  from  all  beholders.  Surely,  Venice  is  the  city  in  the 
universe  best  calculated  for  giving  scope  to  the  observations  of  a  devil  on 
two  sticks.  AVhat  a  variety  of  lurking-places  would  one  stroke  of  his 
crutch  imcover !  '* — ^p.  1 18. 

*'  I  wonder  a  lively  people  can  endure  such  monotony,  for  I  have  been 
told  the  Venetians  are  remarkably  spirited,  and  so  eager  in  the  pursuit 
of  amusement  as  hardly  to  allow  themselves  any  sleep.  Some,  4or  in- 
stance, after  declaiming  in  the  Senate,  walking  an  hour  in  the  square, 
fidgetting  about  from  one  casino  to  another  till  morning  dawns,  will  get 
into  a  gondola,  row  across  the  Lagunes,  take  post  to  Mestre  or  Pusina, 
and  jumble  over  craggy  pavements  to  Treviso,  breakfast  in  haste,  and 
rattle  back  again  as  if  the  devil  was  charioteer :  by  eleven  the  party  b 
restored  to  Venice,  resumes  robe  and  perriwig,  and  goes  to  counsel. 

"  This  may  be  very  true,  and  yet  I  will  never  cite  the  Venetians  as 
examples  of  vivacity.  Their  nerves  unstrung  by  early  debaucheries, 
allow  no  natural  flow  of  lively  spirits,  and  at  best  but  a  few  moments  of 
a  false  and  feverish  activity.  The  approaches  of  sleep,  forced  back  by 
an  immoderate  use  of  coffee,  render  them  weak  and  listless,  and  the 
facility  of  being  wafted  from  place  to  place  in  a  gondola,  adds  not  a  little 
to  their  indolence.  In  short,  I  can  scarcely  regard  their  Eastern  neigh- 
bours in  a  more  lazy  light,  who,  thanks  to  their  opium  and  their  harems, 
peas  their  lives  in  one  perpetual  doze." — ^pp.  121, 122. 

Every  page  of  the  chapters  on  Venice  abounds  with  delightful 
reading,  and,  did  our  limits  permit,  would  afibrd  matter  for  a  dis- 
tinct extract.  The  only  feult  we  find  in  it  is,  that  every  here  and 
there  the  author  thinks  it  necessary  to  tell  us  of  his  abstractions 
and  reveries,  as  if  we  were  to  suppose  he  was  habitually  soaring  in 
imagination  far  above  the  grossnesses  and  common  places  on  earth  ; 
whilst,  after  all,  his  real  merit  consists  in  being  a  close  and  accurate 


Italy,  with  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Portugal,  *?9 

obseirer,  though,  no  doubt,  a  describer  too  amhitious   of  effect 
and  point.     Let  ub  prove  from  his  own  lips  our  averment : — 


'*  The  splendour  of  the  rising  sun  for  once  in  my  life  drew  little  of  my 
attention.  I  was  too  deeply  plunged  in  my  reveries  to  notice  the  land- 
scape which  lay  before  me,  and  the  walls  of  Padua  presented  themselves 
sometime  ere  I  was  aware.  At  any  another  moment  how  sensibly  should 
I  have  been  affected  with  their  appearance  !  How  many  ideas  of  Antenor 
and  his  Trojans  would  have  thronged  into  my  memory !  but  now  I  regarded 
the  scene  with  indifference,  and  passed  many  a  palace  and  many  a  woody 
garden,  with  my  eyes  ri vetted  to  the  ground.  The  first  object  that 
appeared  upon  lifting  them  up  was  a  confused  pile  of  spires  and  cupolas 
dedicated  to  blessed  Saint  Anthony,  one  of  whose  most  eloquent  sermons 
the  great  Addison  has  translated  con  amore,  and  in  his  very  best  manner. 
You  are  too  well  apprised  of  the  veneration  I  have  always  entertained 
for  this  inspired  preacher  to  doubt  that  I  immediately  repaired  to  his 
shrine.  Mine  was  a  disturbed  spirit,  and  required  all  the  balm  of  Saint 
Anthony's  kindness  to  appease  it" — pp.  149, 150. 

Now,  there  is  a  deal  of  9tvjf  in  this,  which  we  could  only  ex- 
cuse by  supposing  the  writer  fresh  from  college ;  but  this  is  a  most 
unnecessary  defence,  when  we  consider  the  real  knowledge  that  dis- 
tinguishes every  chapter  of  the  work.  The  author  was  at  Padua, 
when  this  alarming  reverie  held  him.  He  is  at  thie  same  place 
master  of  a  sturdier  style  of  sentiment : — 

"  Immediately  after  breakfast  we  went  to  St.  Justina's.  Both  extre- 
mities of  the  cross  aisles  are  terminated  by  altar  tombs  of  very  remote 
antiquity,  adorned  with  uncouth  sculptures  of  the  evangelists,  supported 
by  vrreathed  columns  of  alabaster,  round  which,  to  my  no  small  astonish- 
ment, four  or  five  gawky  fellows  were  waddling  on  their  knees,  per- 
suaded, it  seems,  that  this  strange  devotion  would  cure  the  rheumatism, 
or  any  other  aches  with  which  they  were  afBicted.  You  can  have  no 
conception  of  the  ridiculous  attitudes  into  which  they  threw  themselves : 
nor  the  difficulty  with  which  they  squeezed  along  between  the  middle 
columns  of  the  tomb  and  those  which  surround  it.  No  criminal  in  the 
pillory  ever  exhibited  a  more  rueful  appearance,  no  swine  ever  scrubbed 
itself  more  fervently,  than  those  infatuated  lubbers." — pp.  153,  164. 

We  go  forward  to  Florence,  where  he  visits  and  worships  the 
Venus  de  Medicis,  only  [deforming  the  detail  with  too  much,  of 
himself.  He  rushes  on  to  the  famous  gallery,  determined  to  find 
the  goddess,  and  resolved  or  rather  prepared  to  he  pleased  even 
to  wonderment.  We  have  only  here  to  remark,  that  though  we  are 
not  Ughly  skilled  in  the  Uberal  arts,  and  never  were  at  Florence, 
it  is  an  idea  countenanced  by  the  authority  of  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, that  Fame  often  bespeaks  all  the  taste  as  weQ  as  admiration 
that  is  lavished  upon  particular  pictures  or  statues.  A  good  deal 
of  the  author's  flourish  we  take  it  is  attributable  to  this  principle, 
both  at  Florence  and  elsewhere.  At  the  same  time,  the  Venus  de 
Medicis,  we  are  thoroughly  persuaded,  would  command  the  gaze  and 
the  marvel  of  a  coal-heaver,  though  he  had  never  heard  either  of 


80  Itafy,  tBitA  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Portngai. 

the  goddess  or  her  representation.  We  cannot  afibrd  room  for 
an  extract  till  we  come  to  Rome^  and  therefore  we  pass  over  Pisa^ 
Leghorn^  and  Sienna  without  a  notice.  We  transcribe  the  first 
paragraphs  relating  to  the  queen  of  cities  : — 

••  Rome,  October  29th,  1780. 

*'  We  set  out  in  the  dark.  Morning  dawned  over  the  l^go  di  Vico ; 
its  waters  of  a  deep  ultramarine  blue,  and  its  surrounding  forests  catch- 
ing the  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  It  was  in  vain  I  looked  for  the  cupola  of 
Su  Peter's  upon  descending  the  mountains  beyond  Viterba.  Nothing 
but  a  sea  of  vapours  Was  visible. 

**  At  length  the^  rolled  away,  and  the  spacious  plains  began  to  show 
themselves,  in  which  the  most  warlike  of  nations  reared  their  seat  of 
empire.  On  the  left,  afar  off,  rises  the  rugged  chain  of  the  Apennines,  and, 
on  the  other  sides,  a  shining  expanse  of  ocean  terminates  the  view.  It 
was  upon  this  vast  surface  so  many  illustrious  actions  were  performed, 
and  I  know  not  where  a  mighty  people  could  have  chosen  a  grander 
theatre.  Here  was  space  for  the  march  of  armies,  and  verge  enough  for 
encampment;  level  for  martial  games,  and  room  for  that  variety  of 
roads  and  causeways  that  lead  from  the  capital  to  Ostia.  How  many 
triumphant  legions  have  trodden  these  pavements !  how  many  captive 
kings  I  What  throngs  of  cars  and  chariots  once  glittered  on  their  sur- 
face I  savage  animals  dragged  from  the  interior  of  Africa :  and  the  am- 
bassadors of  Indian  princes,  followed  by  their  exotic  train,  hastening  to 
implore  the  favour  of  the  senate.  During  many  ages,  this  eminence 
commanded  every  day  such  illustrious  scenes;  but  all  are*  vanished;  the 
splendid  tumult  is  passed  away :  silence  and  desolation  remain.  Dreary 
flats  thinly  scattered  over  with  ilex,  and  barren  hillocks  crowded  by  soU^ 
tary  towers,  were  the  only  objects  we  perceived  for  several  miles.  Now 
and  then  we  passed  a  few  black  ill-favoured  sheep,  straggling  by  the 
way's  side,  near  a  ruined  sepulchre,  just  such  animals  as  an  ancient  would 
have  sacrificed  to  the  manes.  Sometimes  we  crossed  a  brook,  whose 
ripplings  were  the  only  sounds  which  broke  the  general  stillness,  and 
observed  the  shepherds'  huts  on  its  banks,  propped  up  with  broken  pedes- 
tals and  marble  friezes.  I  entered  one  of  them,  whose  owner  was  abroad 
tending  his  herds,  and  began  writing  upon  the  sand  and  murmuring  a 
melancholy  song.  Perhaps  the  dead  listened  to  me  6om  their  narrow 
cells.    The  living  I  can  answer  for ;  they  were  far  enough  removed. 

** '  When  you  gain  the  summit  of  yonder  hill,  you  will  discover  Rome/ 
said  one  of  the  postillions :  up  we  dragged  :  no  city  appeared. 

"  *  From  the  next,'  cried  out  a  second ;  and  so  on  from  height  to 
height  did  they  amuse  my  expectations.  I  thought  Rome  fled  before  us, 
such  was  my  impatience,  till  at  last  we  perceived  a  cluster  of  hills  with 
green  pastures  on  their  summits,  inclosed  by  thickets  and  shaded  by 
flourishing  ilex.  Here  and  there  a  white  house  built  in  the  antique  style, 
with  open  porticoes,  that  received  a  fennt  gleam  of  the  evening  sun,  just 
emerged  from  the  clouds  and  tinting  the  meads  below.  Now  domes  and 
towers  began  to  discover  themselves  in  the  valley,  and  St.  Peter's  to  rise 
above  the  magnificent  roofs  of  the  Vatican.  Every  step  we  advanced 
the  scene  extended :  '  till  winding  suddenly  round  the  hill,  all  Rome 
opened  to  our  view.' " — ^pp.  230 — 234. 

The  author  tells  us  that  St.  Peter^s  aj^eared  so  fresh  in  its 
preservation^  as  to  suggest  the  idea  of  having  been  erected  within 


ItQly,  with  Skttehes  ^f  Sfmn  and  Pwiagd.  31 

the  same  year.  And,  ajFter  too  much  about  hia  aensatkxiB  and 
ecatacies,  we  have  the  following  happilv  expressed  passage,  which, 
whatever  be  the  name  he  chooses  to  affix  to  the  person  with  whom 
he  corresponded,  we  believe  and  hope  was  addressed  to  his  loved 
one  at  home: 

October  30tb,  1834. 
*'  Immediately  after  breakfast  I  repaired  again  to  St.  l^eter's,  which 
even  exceeded  the  height  of  my  expectations.  I  could  hardly  quit  it.  I 
wbh  his  Holiness  would  allow  me  to  erect  a  little  tabernacle  within  this 
glorious  temple.  I  should  desire  no  other  prospect  during  the  winter : 
no  other  sky  than  the  vast  arches  glowing  with  golden  ornaments,  so 
lofty  as  to  lose  all  glitter  or  gaudiness.  But  I  cannot  say  I  should  be  per- 
pectly  contented,  unless  I  could  obtain  another  tabernacle  for  you.  Thus 
established,  we  would  take  our  evening  on  the  field  of  marble ;  for  is  not 
the  pavement  vast  enough  for  the  extravagance  of  the  appellation? 
Sometimes  instead  of  climbing  a  mountain,  we  should  ascend  the  cupola, 
and  look  down  on  our  little  encampment  below.  At  night  I  should  wish 
for  a  constellation  of  lamps  dispersed  about  in  clusters,  and  so  contrived 
as  to  diffuse  a  mild  and  equal  hght  Music  should  not  be  wanting :  at 
one  time  to  breathe  in  the  subterraneous  chapels,  at  another  to  echo 
through  the  dome.  The  doors  should  be  closed,  and  not  a  mortal  ad« 
mitted.  No  priests,  no  cardinals,  God  forbid  I  We  would  have  all  the 
space  to  ourselves,  and  to  beings  of  our  own  visionary  persuasion." — 
pp.  236, 237. 

The  aathor  describes  his  entrance  into  Naples  to  have  been 
amid  the  torrents  and  bowlings  of  a  ereat  storm  ;  and  all  night  the 
waves  roaring  round  the  rocky  foundations  of  a  fortress  beneath 
the  windows  of  the  inn  where  he  took  up  his  habitation,  and  the 
Sghtning  playing  dear  in  his  eyes. 

But  the  second  volume  has  yet  to  be  opened,  and  we  have  not 
reached  the  end  of  the  first,  the  tenth  of  a  tithe  of  which  has  not 
been  even  adverted  to. 

There  are  a  great  many  pages  devoted  to  the  Grande  Char- 
trenx  to  a  delineation  of  the  woods  clouded  with  darkness,  the 
inzTents  rushing  with  violence  down  to  the  gloomiest  caverns,  and 
to  the  wild  grandeur  of  a  scene  hung  midway  between  the  base  and 
the  snmmit  of  the  most  fearful  clifis  connected  with  that  august 
spot.  But  of  such  grandeur  we  despair  of  giving  any  thing  like  an 
adequate  idea,  by  any  extracts  we  can  introduce ;  and  therefore 
we  pass  forward  to  more  intelligible  and  important  matter — we 
mean  the  morality  of  Genevese  society.  The  author  is  describing 
himself  as  just  having  arrived  under  the  walk  at  night,  a  little  be> 
fare  ten  o'clock,  when  he  knew  the  gates  had  to  be  evened  for  the 
convenience  of  those  returning  from  the  Comedie.     He  goes  on  to 

•J— 

•*  The  Comedie  is  become  of  wonderful  importance ;  but  a  few  years  ago 
the  very  name  of  a  play  was  held  in  such  abhorrence  by  the  spiritual  con- 
sistory of  Geneva  and  its  obsequious  servants,  which  then  included  the 
hest  part  of  the  republic,  that  the  partfJcers  and  the  abettors  of  such  diver- 


35}  ihUjft  «^'M  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Portvgtd, 

Bions  were  eeteemed  on  the  high  road  to  eternal  perdition.  Though  God 
knows,  I  am  unconcious  of  any  extreme  partiality  for  Calvin,  I  cannot 
help  thinking  his  severe  discipline  is  wisely  adapted  to  the  moral  constitution, 
of  this  starch  hit  of  repuhlic  which  he  took  to  his  grim  emhraces.  But 
these  days  of  rigidity  and  plainness  are  completely  gone  hy ;  the  soft 
spirit  of  toleration,  so  eloquently  insinuated  hy  Voltaire,  has  removed  all 
thorny  fences,  familiarized  his  numerous  admirers  with  every  innoviydon, 
and  laughed  the  scrupulous  of  every  nation  to  scorn.  Voltaire,  indeed,  may 
justly  be  styled  the  architect  of  that  gay  well-ornamented  bridge,  by  which 
free-thinking  and  immorality  have  been  smuggled  into  the  republic  under 
the  mask  of  philosophy  and  liberality  and  sentiment.  These  monsters, 
like  the  Sin  and  Death  of  Milton,  have  made  speedy  and  irreparable 
havoc.  To  facilitate  their  operations  rose  the  genius  of  *  Rentes  Viag^res' 
at  his  bidding,  tawdry  villas  with  their  little  pert  groves  of  poplar  and 
horse-chesnut  start-up — ^his  power  enables  Madame  C  D.,  the  bookseller's 
lady,  to  amuse  the  D.  of  G.  with  assemblies,  set  Parisian  cabriolets  and 
English  phaetons  rolling  from  one  fair's  table  to  another,  and  launches 
innumerable  pleasure  parties  with  banners  and  pop-guns  on  tihe  lake, 
drumming  and  trumpeting  away  their  time  from  morn  till  evening.  I  re- 
collect, not  many  years  past,  how  seldom  the  echoes  of  the  mountains 
were  profaned  by  such  noises,  and  how  rarely  the  drones  of  Geneva,  if 
any  there  were  in  that  once  industrious  city,  had  opportunities  of  display- 
ing their  idleness ;  but  now  dissipation  reigns  triumphant,  and,  to  pay  the 
tribute  she  exacts,  every  fool  runs  headlong  to  throw  his  scrapings  into 
the  voracious  whirlpool  of  annuities ;  little  caring,  provided  he  feeds  high 
and  lolls  in  his  carriage,  what  becomes  of  his  posterity.  I  had  ample  time 
to  make  these  reflections,  as  the  Comedie  lasted  longer  than  usual. — 
pp.  368—370. 

On  entering  upon  the  second  volume  of  Mr.  Beckford's  work, 
we  have  a  few  observations  to  oiier^  which  we  purposely  abstained 
fix>m  at  the  commencement  of  this  article.  We  thought  it  proper 
to  let  our  readers  have  a  taste  of  the  exquisite  fare  provided  for 
them,  that  they  might  the  more  heartily  go  along  with  usnotr. 
For  it  is  no  every  day  occurrence  to  find  such  a  production,  whether 
we  regard  it  upon  its  own  intrinsic  merits,  or  in  connexion  with 
various  associated  facts.  Mr.  Beckford's  Vathek  appeared  above 
fifty  years  ago,  which  obtained  for  him  a  high  name ;  and  these 
travels  are  about  as  old ;  yet  till  now  they  have  lain  dormant,  nor 
has  the  author,  so  far  as  we  know,  been  heard  of,  through  any  in- 
tervening production,  during  these  long  fifty  years.  He  still  lives 
however  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  fame,  which  within  these  few  late 
weeks  has  been  loud  and  continual  in  his  favour.  These  are  re- 
markable circumstances  of  themselves.  It  would  appear,  however^ 
that  for  years  past  there  has  been  a  whisper  among  the  literary 
circles,  that  Byron  and  other  iUustrious  writers  had  pilfered  largely 
from  Mr.  Beckford's  travels  without  acknowledgment,  the  work» 
either  from  an  impression  privately  distributed  to  a  few  friends,  or 
otherwise  shewn,  having  been  the  victim  of  the  great  dons  of 
modem  poetry;  and  the  surmise  receives  strong  support  froox 
Mr.  Beckford's  modest  and  polite  preface.     But  our  taste  neither 


Itaiy,  with  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Portugal.  33 

relishes  scandal  nor  rancour ;  and  we  proceed  to  notice  one  great 
charm  that  surrounds  the  work,  which  owes  none  of  its  strength  to 
sarmisea.  or  individual  unfairness;  we  allude  to  the  wondrous  change 
the  numerous  revolutions  that  have  marked  the  face,  it  may  almost 
literally  be  said,  of  the  countries  he  travelled,  within  these  fifty 
years.  Think  of  what  has  beiallen  Italy,  and  still  more  of  the  his- 
tory of  Portugal  and  Spain,  since  the  years  1780  and  1785!  It  is 
one  of  the  strongest  and  most  affecting  circumstances  to  be  pre- 
sented with  a  book  published  but  yesterday,  that  yet  was  written 
by  a  living  author,  and  describes  scenes  and  events  witnessed  ere 
the  present  order  or  disorder  of  things  was  dreamt  of — even  before 
Buonapcurte,  who  made  some  of  the  countries  described,  the  field 
d  his  renown  and  also  discomfitures,  was  heard  of. 

But  after  all,  it  is  the  talent,  the  intrinsic  merit,  of  these  volumes 
that  we  are  chiefly  concerned  with,  and  by  which  they  will  continue 
to  be  known.  The  author  was  of  course,  from  what  is  stated,  at 
the  time  thev  were  written  young  and  enthusiastic ;  he  was  highly 
echicated  and  accomplished  as  they  show  ;  and,  it  may  be  added,  he 
was  deeply  skilled  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  which  must  have  been 
owing  to  his  quick  and  accurate  discernment,  rather  than  the  length 
of  his  experience.  The  lands  he  travelled  were  exactly  suited  to 
his  classic  and  ideal  fancy ;  and,  besides  all  this,  he  had  the  com- 
mand pf  fortune,  influence,  and  every  tastefiil  luxury  that  can  be 
imagined  to  facilitate  his  view :  with  their  powers  and  advantages,  he 
made  what  may  be  truly  called  a  poetic  tour  ;  sketching  characters 
and  scenes  as  the  impulse  of  the  moment  prompted ;  sometimes 
disposing  of  a  people  and  a  city  in  one  sentence,  an  anecdote  or  a 
sarcasm ;  at  other  times,  as  at  Venice  for  instance,  lavishing  the 
riches  of  his  imagination,  and  ever  with  a  reckless  and  masterly 
profusion. 

We  have  no  wish  to  recur  and  dwell  upon  the  tiresome  and  in- 
effective manner  in  which  he  often  teUs  us  of  his  enthusiasm.  We 
shall  only  repeat,  that,  to  us,  it  is  a  blemish  in  these  delectable 
volumes ;  and  a  practice  very  younthfiil — quite  unlike  the  energy 
and  scornful  manliness,  as  well  as  graceful  tact,  that  generally  dis- 
tinguish him.  We  much  rather  hasten  back  to  the  work  itself, 
more  especially,  as  we  Uke  the  second  better  than  the  first  volume  ; 
not  that  there  is  more  genius  displayed,  but  because  instead  of 
things  we  have  men,  as  the  principal  theme ;  instead  of  still,  we 
have  animated  and  active  life. 

Mr.  Beckford  is  detained  by  contrary  winds  in  Cornwall ;  and 
our  readers  may  not  dislike  to  hear  what  he  has  to  say  of  some  things 
at  home,  before  crossing  to  Portugal.  Here  is  description  for  you. 
Tlie  town  spoken  of  is  Falmouth. 

"  Just  out  of  the  town,  in  a  sheltered  recess  of  the  hay,  lies  a  grove  of 
tall  elms,  forming  several  avenues  carpeted  with  turf.  In  the  central 
point  rises  a  stone  pyramid  about  thirty  feet  high,  well  designed  and  con. 
Btrucied,  but  quite  plain,  without  any  inscription ;  between  the  stems  Qf 

VOL.  III.  (1834.)  Ko.  I.  D 


34  Italy 9  wUh  Sketchei  of  Sjpain  md  Porhtgal. 

the  trees  one  discovers  a  low  white  house,  built  in  and  out  in  a  very  capri- 
cious manner,  with  oriel  windows  and  porches,  shaded  by  bushes  of  pros- 
perous bay.  Several  rose-coloured  cabbages,  with  leaves  as  crisped  and 
curled  as  those  of  the  acanthus,  decorate  a  little  grass  plat,  neatly  swept 
before  the  door.  Over  the  roof  of  this  snug  habitation  I  spied  the  skele* 
ton  of  a  gothic  mansion,  so  completely  robed  with  thick  ivy,  as  to  appear 
like  one  of  those  castles  of  clipped  box  I  have  often  seen  in  a  Dutch 
garden. 

**  Yesti^rday  evening,  the  winds  being  still  and  the  sun  gleaming  warm 
for  a  moment  or  two,  I  visited  this  spot  to  examine  the  ruin,  )iear  birds 
chirp,  and  scent  wall-flowers. 

"  Two  young  girls,  beautifully  shaped,  and  dressed'  with  a  sort*  of  to-' 
mantle  provincial  elegance,  yere  wsJking  up  and  down  the  grove  by  the 
pyramid.  There  was  something  so  lovelorn  in  their  gjestures,  that  I  have 
no  doubt  they  were  sighing  out  their  souls  to  each  other.  As  a  decided 
amateur  of  this  sort  of  confidential  promenade,  1  would  have  given  my 
ears  to  have  heard  their  confessions  J' — ^pp.  6,  7. 

The  next  mornings   occupation   afibrds    another  specimen : — 

**  Scott  came  this  morning  and  took  me  to  see  the  consolidated  mines 
in  the  parish  of  Gwynnay  ;  they  are  situated  in  a  bleak  desert,  rendered 
still  more  doleful  by  the  unhealthy  appearance  of  its  inhabitants.  At 
every  step  one  stumbles  upo^i  ladders  that  lead  into  utter  darkness,  or 
funnels  that  exhale  warm  copperous  vapours.  All  around  these  openings 
the  ore  is  piled  up  in  heaps  waiting  for  purchasers.  I  saw  it  drawn 
recking  out  of  the  mine  by  the  help  of  a  machine  called  a  whim,  put  in 
motion  by  mules,  which  in  their  turn  are  stimulated  by  impish  children 
hanging  over  the  poor  brutes,  and  flogging  them  round  without  respite. 
This  dismal  scene  of  w/dms^  suffering  mules,  and  hillocks  of  cinders,  ex- 
tends for  miles.  Huge  iron  engines  creaking  and  groaning,  invented  by 
Watt,  and  tall  chimneys  smoking  and  flaming,  that  seem  to  belong  to  old 
Nicholas's  abode,  diversify  the  prospect. 

*'  Two  strange-looking  Cornish  beings,  dressed  in  ghostly  white,  con- 
ducted me  about,  aiid  very  kindly  proposed  a  descent  into  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  but  I  declined  initiation.     These  mystagogues  occupy  a  tole- 
rable house,  with  four  sash  windows,  where  the  inspectors  of  the  mine^ 
hold  their  meetings,  and  regale  upon  beef,  pudding,  and  brandy.** — ' 
pp.  8,  9. 

We  must  not  at  the  very  oatset  of  the  volume  however  be  too 
lavish  with  our  extracts ;  for,  truly,  were  every  particularly  fine 
paragraph  to  be  quoted,  more  than  half  the  work  would  figure  m  our 
pages.  His  description  of  the  Cornish  miners  is  singularly  graphic 
Notwithstanding  their  pale  looks,  he  tells  us  that  they  are  fiur 
from  being  poor  or  unhealthy ;  that  ^^  their  wives,  dressed  out  in 
tawdry  silks,  oft  flaunt  away  in  alehouses  between  rows  of  obedient^ 
fiddlers".  But  this  was  in  the  year  1789;  since  that  time  we 
believe  great  changes  have  come  over  this  class  of  labourers — 9fid 
now  for  his  first  notice  of  Lisbon,  ^hich  is  capital : — 

"  Lisbon  is  the  place  in  the  world  best  calculated  to  make  one  cry 
out 

'  Hide  me  from  thy  day's  garish  eye  ^' 


/te/jr,  with  Sketchet  of  Spain  4md  PortugaL  U 

but  where  to  Inde  is  not  so  easy.  Here  are  no  thickets  of  pine  as  in  the 
claasic  Italian  villas,  none  of  those  quiTering  poplars  and  leafy  chesnuts 
triidch  ooTer  the  plains  of  Lomhardy.  The  groves  in  the  immediate  envi- 
rons of  ^is  capital  are  composed  of — with  alas  I  but  few  exceptions—* 
dwarfish  orange-trees  and  cinder-coloured  olives.  Under  their  branches 
repose  Neither  shepherds  nor  shepherdesses,  but  whitening,  bones,  scraps 
of IcSEitiier,  broken  pantiles,  and  passengers  not  unfrequentiy  atten  led  by 
mookeys,  who,  I  have  been  told,  are  let  out  for  the  purpose  of  picking  up 
a  livelihood.  Those  who  cannot  afford  this  apish  luxury  have  their 
boshy  poles  untenanted  by  affectionate  relations,  for  yesterday  just  under 
my  window  I  saw  two  blessed  babies  rendering  this  good  office  to  their 
aged  parent 

**  I  had  determined  not  to  have  stirred  beyond  the  shade  of  my  awning ; 
however,  towards  eve,  the  extreme  fervour  of  the  sun  being  a  little 
abated.  Old  Home  Twho  has  yet  a  colt's  tooth)  prevailed  upon  me  to  walk 
in  the  Botanic  Garaens,  where  not  unfrequentlv  are  to  be  found  certain 
youthful  animals  of  the  female  gender,  called  A9afatas  in  Pbrtuguese ;  a 
apeciea  between  a  bedchamber  woman  and  a  maid  of  honour.  The 
Queen  has  kindly  taken  the  ugliest  with  her  to  the  Caldas :  those  who 
remain  have  largpe  black  eyes  sparkling  with  the  true  spirit  of  adventure, 
an  exuberant  flow  of  dark  hair,  and  pouting  lips  of  the  colour  and  size  of 
full-blown  roses. 

**  All  this,  yoo  will  tell  me,  does  not  compose  a  perfect  beauty.  I  never 
qieant  to  convey  such  a  notion :  I  only  wish  you  to  understand  that  the 
nymphs  we  have  just  quitted  are  the  flowers  of  the  Queen's  flock,  and 
that  she  hasy  at  least*  four  or  five  dozen  more  in  attendance  upon  her 
sacred  person,  with  larger  mouths,  smaller  eyes,  and  swarthier  com- 
plexion&''— pp.  29 — 31. 

The  contrast  between  the  present  distracted  and  declined  state 
of  Portngal,  and  of  the  courtly  times  the  author  describes^  is  re- 
markable. He  was  invited  to  the  royal  convent  of  the  Necessidades^ 
to  see  the  ceremony  of  consecrating  a  bishop^  where  there  was  a 
mighty  glitter  of  crosses^  censers^  mitres  and  crosiers  continually 
in  motion,  as  several  bishops  assisted  in  all  their  pomp.  The  floor 
being  covered  with  rich  Persian  carpets  and  velvet  cushions,  ^^it 
was  pretty  good  kneeling.''  There  was  a  crowd  of  grandees  present 
in  shining  raiment,  who  put  on  most  woeful  contrite  countenances, 
*^axid  tbiwiped  tbeur  breast,  seeming  to  think  themselves,  as  most 
of  tihem  are,  miserable  sinners."  He  soon  after  goes  to  the  Mari- 
ahra-place  to  pay  the  grand  prior  a  visit,  who  seemed  to  have  a  de- 
cided taste  for  docks,  compasses  and  time-pieces.   Here  he  meets 

the  Count  of  V ,  Viceroy  of  Algarve,  who,  though  straddling 

and  making  wry  feces,  was  in  a  most  gracious  mood.  The  conver- 
sation ''was  limpingly •carried  on  in  a  great  variety  of  broken  lan- 
guages; Spanish,  Italian,  Portnguese,  French  and  English  had  each 
uieir  tnm  in  rapid  snccession.  The  subject  of  all  this  poly-glottery 
was  the  glories  and  piety  of  John  the  Fifth,  re^et  for  tne  extinc- 
tkn  of  the  Jesuits^  and  the  reverse  for  the  deaw  of  Pombal."  We 
smst  not  garble  the  witchery  of  delineation  that  follows  : — 

*  To  escape  the  long-winded  narrations  which  were  pouring  wami' 

d2 


M  H^,  with  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Pertu^ah 

iQito  my, ear,  I  took  refuge  aear  a  harpsichord,  where  Policarpio,  ode  of 
the  first  tenors  in  the  queen's  chapel  was  singing  and  accompanying 
himself.     The  curtains  of  the  door  of  an  adjoining  dark  apartment  being 

half  drawn,  gave  me  a  transient  glimpse  of  Donna  Henriquetta  de  L , 

Don  Pedro's  sister,  advancing  one  moment  and  retiring  the  next,  eager 
to  approach  and  examine  us  exotic  beings,  but  not  venturing  to  enter 
the  saloon  during  her  mother's  absence*  She  appeared  to  me  a  most 
interesting  giri,  with  eyes  full  of  bewitching  langour ; — ^but  of  what  do  I 
taJk,  1  only  saw  her  pale  and  evanescent,  as  one  fancies  one  sees  objects 
in  a  dream.  A  group  of  lovely  children  (her  sisters,  I  believe  J  sat  at  her 
feet  upon  the  ground,  resembling  gehii  partially  concealed  oy  folds  of 
drapery  in  some  grand  allegorical  picture  by  Rubens  or  Paul  Veronese. 

*•  Night  approaching,  lights  glimmered  on  the  turrets,  terraces,  and 
every  part  of  the  strange  huddle  of  buildings  of  which  this  morisco-look- 
ing  palace  is  composed;  half  the  family  were  engaged  in  reciting  the 
litanies  of  Stunts,  the  other  in  freaks  and  frolics,  perha|>8  of  no  very  edify- 
ing nature :  the  monotonous  staccato  of  the  guitar,  accompanied  by  the 
low  soothing  murmur  of  female  voices  singing  modinhas,  formed  altoge- 
ther a  strange  though  not  unpleasant  combination  of  sounds/'*— pp<  39, 40. 

We  have  next  some  splendid  paragraphs  devoted  to  the  old  Mar- 

Siis  of  M — ,  the  patriarch  of  the  Marialvas,  with  whom  Mr. 
eckford  partook  of  a  collation.  Not  less  than  fifty  servants  were 
in  waiting — wax  torches  and  tapers^  intermingled  with  silver  bra- 
siers   ana  cassolettes,  adding  to  the  charm  of  the  scene:— -» 

"  I  found  the  master  of  all  this  magnificence  most  courteous,  afiable, 
and  engaging.  There  is  an  urbanity  and  good-humour  in  his  looks,  ges- 
tures, and  tone  of  voice  that  prepossesses  instantaneously  in  his  favour, 
and  justifies  the  universal  popularity  he  enjoys,  and  the  affectionate  name 
of  father,  by  which  the  queen  and  royal  family  often  address  him.  All 
the  favours  of  the  crown  have  been  heaped  upon  him  by  the  present  and 
preceding  sovereigns,  a  tide  of  prosperity  uninterrupted  even  during  the 
grand  vizariat  of  Pombal.  '  Act  as  you  judge  wisest  with  the  rest  of  my 
nobility/  used  to  say  the  King  Don  Joseph  to  this  redoubted  minister; 
*  but  beware  how  you  interfere  with  the  Marquis  of  Marialva.' 

"  In  consequence  of  this  decided  predilection,  the  Marialva  Palace  be- 
came in  many  cases  a  sort  of  rallying  point,  an  asylum  for  the  oppressed  ; 
and  its  master,  in  more  than  one  instance,  a  shidLd  against  the  tiiander- 
bolts  of  a  too  powerful  minister.  The  recollections  of  these  timea  seem 
still  to  be  kept  alive  ;  for  the  heart-felt  respect,  the  filial  adoration,  I  saw 
paid  the  old  Marquis,  was  indeed  most  remarkable ;  his  slightest  glances 
were  obeyed,  and  the  person  on  whom  they  fell  seemed  gratified  and  ani- 
mated ;  his  sons,  the  Marquis  of  Tancos  and  Don  Jos^  de  Meneses*  never 
approached  to  offer  him  anything  without  bending  the  knee-;  and  the 
Cond^  de  Villaverde,  the  heir  of  the  great  house  of  Anjeja,  as  well  as  the 
Viceroy  of  Algarve,  stood  in  the  circle  which  was  formed  around  him»  re- 
cei^dng  a  kind  or  gracious  word  with  the  same  thankful  earnestness  as 
courtiers'-who  hang  upon  the  smiles  and  favour  of  their  sovereign^  I  shall 
long  remember  the  grateful  sensations  with  which  this  scene  of  reciprocal 
kindness  filled  me;  it  appeared  an  interchange  %>f  amiable  sentimeBta ; 
beneficence  diffused  without  guile  or  affectation,  and  protection  received 
without  sullen  or  abject  servility. 


Italy ^  with  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Portugal,  ^7 

"  How  preferable  is  patriarchal  government  of  this  nature  to  the  col4 
theories  pedantic  sophists  would  establish,  and  which,  should  success  at<J 
tend  their  selfish  atheistical  ravingps,  bid  fair  to  undermine  the  best  and 
surest  props  of  society.  When  parents  cease  to  be  honoured  by  their 
children,  and  the  feelings  of  grateful  subordination  in  those  of  helpless 
age  or  condition  are  unknown,  kings  will  soon  cease  to  reign,  and  repub- 
lics to  be  governed  by  experience ;  anarchy,  rapine,  and  massacre  will 
walk  the  earth,  and  the  abode  of  daemons  be  transformed  from  hell-  to  our 
unfc^tunate  planet." — ^j^.  44—46. 

We  every  where  meet  and  admire  the  finest  display  of  polished 
language^  shewing  how  perfectly  natural  it  is  to  the  author,  and  no 
doubt  but  a  sample  of  his  daily  and  habitual  phraseology.  He 
must  in  truth  have  been,  even  when  young,  an  ornament  to  the 
aristocracy.  It  will  be  long  before  radicalism  render  us  any  substi- 
tute that  practically  will  be  found  of  equal  value  to  such  an  orna- 
ment ;  not  to  speak  of  the  grander  matters  of  life  and  experieuce. 
But  the  scenes  he  describes  were  under  the  reign  of  Donna  Maria 
th^  First,  of  mild  and  beneficent  memory ; — there  have  been  other 
things  since  that  day  Enacted  and  displayed  in  Lisbon.  Time  will 
proye  how  another  Donna  Maria  will  be  spoken  of  by  strangers  and 
travellers. 

Here  is  a  dinner,  and  a  personage  or  two  hit  off  in  a  few  lines 
to  perfection.  Seldom  does  a  five  act  drama  draw  the  portraits  of 
its  chaxacters  half  so  well. 

"  To-day  we  were  engaged  to  dine  in  the  country  at  a  villa  belonging 
to  a  gentleman,  whose  volley  of  names,  when  pronounced  with  the  true 
Portuguese  twang,  sounds  like  an  expectoration — Jo&4  Street-Arriaga- 
Bnim  daSilveira.  Our  hospitable  host  is  of  Irish  extraction,  boasts  a  sta- 
ture of  six  feet,  proportionable  breadth,  a  ruddy  countenance,  herculean 
legs,  and  all  the  exterior  attributes,  at  least,  of  that  enterprising  race  who 
often  have  the  luck  of  marrying  great  fortunes.  About  a  year  or  two  ago 
be  bore  off  a  wealthy  Brazilian  heiress,  and  ia  now  master  of  a  large  estate 
and  a  fubsical,  squat  wife,  with  a  head  not  unlike  that  of  Holof ernes  in 
old  tapestry*  and  shoulders  that  act  the  part  of  a  platter  with  rather*too 
muck  exactitude.  Poor  soul !  to  be  sure,  she  is  neither  a  Venus  nor  a 
Hebe,  has  a  rough  lip,  and  a  manly  voice,  and  I  fear  is  somewhat  inclined 
ta  be  dropsical;  but  her  smiles  are  frequent  and  fondling,  and  she  cleaves 
to  her  husband  with  great  perseverance. 

*'  He  is  an  odd  character,  will  accept  of  no  employment,  civil  or  mili- 
tary, and  affects  a  bullying  frankness,  that  I  should  think  must  displease 
very  much  in  this  country,  where  independence  either  in  fortune  or  senti- 
ment is  a  crime  seldom  if  ever  tolerated. 

'*  Mr.  S likes  a  dbplay,  and  the  repast  he  gave  us  was  magnificent ; 

nxty  dishes  at  least,  eight  smoking  roasts,  and  every  ragout,  French, 
Banish  and  Portuguese,  that  could  be  thought  of.  The  dessert  appeared 
like  the  model  of  a  fortification.  The  principal  cake-tower  measured,  I 
dare  say,  three  feet  perpendicular  in  height.  The  company  was  not  equal 
either  in  muaber  or  consequence  to  the  splendour  of  the  entertainment.*' 
—pp.  61/  52. 


d8  Itafy^  With  Sketches  of  Spain  tmd  Pmrtugal. 

We  have  many  admirable  sketches  of  priestly  diaracier  and 
bigotted  people^  as  sarcastic  as  they  are  striking.  Behold  a  digni* 
(ary  of  the  diiirch: — 

*'  The  Archbishop  Confessor  displayed  his  goodly  person  at  one  of  the 
balconies ;  from  a  clown,  this  now  most  important  personage  became  a 
common  soldier,  from  a  common  soldier  a  coTx>oral,  from  a  corporal  a 
monk»  in  which  station  he  gave  so  many  proofs  of  toleration  and  good- 
humour,  that  Pombal,  who  happened  to  stumble  upon  him  by  one  of  those 
chances  which  set  all  calculation  at  defiance,  judged  bim  sufficiently 
shrewd,  jovial,  and  ignorant,  to  make  a  very  harmless  and  comfortable 
confessor  to  her  majesty,  then  ptiacess  of  Brazil :  since  her  accession  to 
the  throne,  he  is  become  axshWshop,  in  partibus,  grand  inquisitor,  and  the 
first  spring  in  the  present  government  of  PortugaL  I  never  saw  a  sturdier 
fellow.  He  seems  to  anoint  himself  with  the  oil  of  gladness,  to  laugh 
and  grow  fat  in  spite  of  the  critical  situation  of  afiaixs  in  this  kingdom* 
uid  the  just  fears  all  its  true  patriots  entertain  of  seeing  it  once  more  re- 
lapse into  a  Spanish  province." — pp.  72,  73. 

These  volumes  are  nothing  less  than  poetry  in  porose.  After  one 
short  extract  or  two  more,  we  must  no  longer  remain  in  Lisbon^ 
although  about  half  through  his  description  of  the  city.  The  mosie 
he  is  speaking  of  is  Brazilian  M odinas  :< — 

"  Those  who  have  never  heard  this  original  sort  of  mmde,  nrast  and  vrill 
remain  ignorant  of  the  most  bewitching  knelodies  that  ever  existed  rinoe 
the  days  of  the  Sybarites.  They  consist  of  languid  interrupted  me^l^ttrea. 
as  if  the  breadth  was  gone  with  excess  of  rapture,  and  the  soul  panting  to 
meet  the  kindred  soul  of  some  beloTcd  object.  With  a  childish  careless- 
ness they  steal  into  the  heart,  before  it  has  time  to  arm  itself  against  their 
enervating  influence ;  you  fancy  you  are  swallowing  milk,  and  are  admit* 
,ting  ^e  poison  of  voluptuonsness  into  the  closest  recesses  of  your  exist- 
ence. At  least,  such  beings  as  feel  the  power  of  hflormonious  sounds  are 
doing  so ;  I  won't  answer  for  hard-eared,  phlegmatic  northern  animals.'* 
—p.  74. 

The  account  of  a  cheerful  funeral  at  Cintra  must  not  be  passed 
over^  The  deceased  was  an  old  Englishwoman^  who  had  been  con- 
verted from  the  protestant  heresy,  and  great  were  the  rejoicings  on 
the  occasion  :< — 

**  There  was  sach  a  bustle  in  the  mterior  i^artment,  where  the  wretched 
corpse  was  deposited,  such  a  chaunting  and  pra3ring,  for  not  a  tongue 
was  idle,  that  my  head  swam  round,  and  I  took  refuge  by  the  grand  prior. 
He  by  no  means  relished  the  party,  and  kept  shrugging  up  his  shomders, 
and  saying  that  it  was  very  edifying — ^very  edifying  indeed,  and  that  Ac- 
eiaoli  had  been  extremely  alert,  and  deserved  great  commendation^  but 
that  so  much  fuss  might  as  wdl  have  been  spared. 

By  some  hints  that  dropped*  I  won't  say  from  whom,  I  discovered  the 
innocent  now  on  the  high  road  to  eternal  felicity  by  no  means  to  have  saf» 
fered  the  cup  of  joy  to  pass  by  untested  in  this  existence,  and  to  have 
lived  many  years  on  a  very  easy  footing,  not  only  with  a  stout  English 
bachelor,  but  with  several  others,  married  and  unmarried,  of  his  pajrtiea- 
lar  acquaintance.    However,  she  had  taken  a  sadden  taok  vpoa  finding 


ifdjr*  with  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Portugal.  39 

leiseM  driven  «pace  down  the  tide  of  a  rapid  consumption^  and  had  been 
fsiAj  towdd  into  port  hy  the  joint  efforts  of  the  Irish  hostess  and  tiie  mon- 
signori  Mascarenhas  and  Acciaoli. 

**  *'  Thrice  happy  Englishwoman/  exclaimed  M — a,  '  what  hick  is  thitie  f 
In  the  next  Wofrld  immediate  admisaon  to  Paradise,  and  in  this  thy  body 
#in  hare  the  pirond  di^nction  of  being  borne  to  liie  grave  by  men  of  tfaa 
highest  rank.    Was  there  ever  such  feUeity  ?" — ^pp.  151 — 153« 

Mr.  Beckford's  eminent  station  in  society^  wealth  and'  talents 
obtained  for  him  admission  and  even  admiration  among  the  higher 
orders  of  the  nobility  and  churchmen ;  ^nd  he  deals  with  them 
as  &eely,  and  sketches  off  their  manners  as  easily^  as  anv  fhmiliar 
acqwontaneeship  coiidd  doable  a  portrait  painter  to  do.  One  trutli 
K  clear  from  the  whole  of  his  delineations^  that,  whatever  be  the 

Si^  of  society  whose  principles  and  feelings  are  d^icted,  the  same 
tures,  this  same  virtues,  vices  atad  fiiilings  are  seen  uniformly  to 
p^vail — ^fch^  field  of  display  only  being  of  a  diiierent  character.  Of 
the  Grandees  of  Portugal,  as  described  by  the  author,  a  rather  good 
impression  is  conyeyea:  bigotry  and  priestcraft  colouring  and  oon- 
troling  every  otber  exhibition  of  their  common  nature.  Imme- 
diately beforaMr.  Beckfoid  left  Lisbon  and  Portugal,  which  he  did 
with  regret  and  with  the  kindest  feelings,  he  W9^  present  at  the 
Berfozxnance  of  the  dead  mass  at  the  church  of  Martyrs.  The  gran- 
ae^r.  of  the  exhibition  could  not  surpass  the  felicity  of  his  descrip- 
tion of  it. 

^  I  went  to  the  church  of  the  Martyrs  to  hear  the  matins  of  Perez  and 
the  dead  mass  of  Jomelli  performed  by  all  the  principal  musibiaos  of  the 
^yal  chapel  for  the  repose  of  the  souls  of  their  deceased  predecessors. 
Sti^h  august,  such  affecting  music  I  never  heard,  and  perhaps  may  never 
Yiekt  again ;  for  the  flame  of  devotit  enthusiasm  bums  dim  in  almost  every 
port  of  Ehux>pe,  and  threatens  total  extinction  in  a  very  few  years.  As 
y^  it  ^Ows  at  Lisbon,  and  produced  this  day  the  most  striking  musical 
effect. 

'*^  Every  individual  present  seemed  penetrated  with  the  spirit  of  those 
awful  words  which  Perez  and  Jomelli  have  set  with  tremendous  sublimi^. 
Not  only  the  music,  but  the  serious  demeanour  of  the  performers,  of  the 
officiating  priests,  and  indeed  of  the  whole  congregation,  was  calculated 
to  impress  a  solemn,  pious  terror  of  the  world  beyond  the  grave.  The 
sjA^endid  decoratiob  of  the  church  was  changed  into  mourning,  the  tribunes 
him^  with  black,  and  a  veil  of  gold  and  pui-ple  thrown  over  the  high  altar, 
hi'  the  midst  of  the  choir  stood  a  catafalque  surrounded  with  tapers  in 
lofty  candelabra,  a  row  of  priests  motionless  on  each  side.  There  was  an 
aw^  ^cnce  for  several  minutes,  and  then  began  the  solemn  service  of 
fiie  dead.  The  singers  turned  pale  as  they  sang,  '  Timor  mortis  me  ccm- 
turbat.'  ^  . 

*'  AYCer  the  requiem,  the  high  mass  of  Jomelli,  in  commemoration  of  the 
<!l^eased,  was  performed  ;  that  famous  composition  which  begins  with  a 

movement  imitative  of  the  tolling  of  bells, 

*      '  Swinging  Blow  with  tnlleB  roar.* 
llie^  deep,'  mt^tle  sounds,  mingled  with  others  like  the  cries  for  mercy 
ef'Widuif^f  ^>eing8/  MOnnd  whom  the  shiidows  of  death  and  the  pains  of 


40  Italy,  with  Sketch^  of  3pmn  md  Portugal. 

heti  wiere  gadieiing,  skook  every  nerve  in  my  fmne,  and  called  up'^  nf 
recollection  bo  many  affecting  images,  that  I  could  not  refrain  from  teisa. 
J'  I  scarcely  knew  how  I  was  conveyed  to  the  palace,  where  Marialva 
expected  my  coming  with  the  utmost  impatience.  Our  conversation  took 
a  most  serious  turn.  He  entreated  me  not  to  forget  Portugal,  to  me<fitate 
upon  the  awful  service  I  had  been  hearing,  and  to  remember  he  should  not 
die  in  peace  unless  I  was  present  to  close  his  eyes." — ^pp.  253— *255. 

But  we  must  part  with  Mr.  Beckford  at  Madrid^  and  leave  him 
in  the  Escurial,  a  suitable  part  to  take  a  farewell  of  these  fine 
brilliant  and  imaginative  volumes.  We  string  part  of  two  chaptears 
together. 

*'  The  Escurial,  though  overhung  by  melancholy  mountaim,  is  placed 
itself  on  a  very  considerable  eminence,  up  which  we  were  fiiU  half  an 
hour  toiling,  the  late  rains  having  washed  this  part  of  the  road  into  utter 
confusion.  There  is  something  most  severely  impressive  in  the  facade  of 
this  regal  convent,  which,  like  the  palace  of  Persepolis,  is  overshadowed  by 
the  adjoining  mountain ;  nor  did  I  pass  through  a  vaulted  cloister  into  the 
court  before  the  church,  solid  as  if  hewn  out  of  a  rock,  without  expe* 
riencing  a  sort  of  shudder,  to  which  no  doubt  the  vivid  recollection  of  the 
black  and  blood-stained  days  of  our  gloomy  queen  Mary's  husband  not 
slightly  contributed.  The  sun  being  again  overcast,  the  porches  of  the 
church  surmounted  by  grim  statues,  appeared  so  dark  and  cavern-like, 
that  I  thought  myself  about  to  enter  a  subterraneous  temple  eet  apart  for 
the  service  of  some  mysterious  and  terrible  religion.  And  when.l  saw  the 
high  altar,  in  all  its  pomp  of  jasper  steps,  ranks  of  columns  one  above  the 
other,  and  paintings  filling  up  every  interstice,  full  before  me,  I  felt  com- 
pletely awed." 

"  TTie  prior,  who  is  not  easily  pleased,  seemed  to  have  suspicioivs  that 
the  seriousness  of  my  demeanour  was  not  entirely  orthodox ;  I  overheard 
him  saying  to  Roxas,  '  shall  I  shew  him  the  Angel's  feather  ?  you  know  we 
do  not  display  this  our  most- valued,  incomparable  relic  to  every  body,  nor 
unless  upon  special  occasions. — '  The  occasion  is  sufficiently  special/ 
answered  my  partial  friend :  '  the  letters  I  brought  to  you  are  your  war* 
rant,  and  I  beseech  your  reverence  to  let  us  look  at  this  gift  of  heaven, 
which  I  am  extremely  anxious  myself  to  adore  and  venerate.' 

*' Forth  stalked  the  prior,  and  drawing  out  from  a  remarkably  lai^ 
cabinet,  an  equally  capacious  sliding  shelf— (the  source,  I  conjecture,  of 
the  potent  odour  I  complained  of)— displayed,  lying  stretched  out  upon  a 
quilted  silken  mattress,  the  most  glorious  specimen  of  plumage  ever  beheld 
in  terrestrial  regions — a  feather  from  the  wing  of  the  Archangel  Gabriel 
full  three  feet  long,  and  of  a  blushing  hue  more  soft  and  delicate  than  that 
of  the  loveliest  rose.  I  longed  to  ask  at  what  precise  moment  this  trea." 
sure  had  been  dropped — whether  from  the  air — on  the  open  ground,  or 
within  the  walls  of  the  humble  tenement  at  Nazareth ;  but  I  repressed  all 
questions  of  an  indiscreet  tendency — the  why  and  wherefore,  the  when 
and  how,  for  what  and  to  whom  such  a  palpable  manifestation  of  archan- 
gelic  beauty  and  wingedness  had  been  vouchsafed. 

"  He  led  the  way  through  a  labyrinth  of  cloisters,  gloomy  as  the  gmve  ( 
till  ordering  a  grated  door  to  be  thrown  open,  the  light  of  our  flambeaax 
fell  upon  a  flight  of  most  beautiful  marble  steps,  polished  as  a  marror, 
leading  down  between  walls  of  the  rarest  jaspers  to  a  portal  of  no  gre^t 


i,h\A  ennobed  witb-bnluBten  of  ridi  faroQze>  seolpbirad  arcUt>«Te% 
«fed  fe^Uelii  of  inacnptioaiB,  in  a  style  of  the  greatest  magmficenoe. 
,  "  As  I  descended  the  steps^  a  gurgling  sound,  like  that  of  a  rivulet, 
eaugbt  my  ear.  '  What  mecuis  this  ?'  said  I.  '  It  means/  answered  'the 
moo^, '  tluBLt  the  sepulchral  cave  on  the  left  of  the  stairs*  where  repose  the 
bodies  of  many  of  our  queens  and  infantas,  is  properly  ventilated,  running 
water  being  excellent  for  that  purpose.*  I  went  on,  not  lulled  by  these 
rippling  murmurs,  but  chilled  when  I  reflected  through  what  precincts 
flows  this  river  of  death. 

'  •*  Arrived  at  the  bottom  ot  the  stairs,  we  passed  through  the  portal  just 
tnentioned,  and  entered  a  circular  saloon,  not  more  than  five-and-thlrty 
feet  in  diameter,  characterized  by  extreme  elegance,  not  stem  solemnity. 
The  regal  saroc^hagi,  rich  in  golden  ornaments,  ranged  one  above  the 
ather»  forming  panels  of  the  most  decorative  kind ;  ^e  lustre  of  exqui- 
sitely sculptured  bronze,  the  pavement  of  mottled  alabaster ;  in  short,  this 
giaeeful  tomb,  covered  with  scrcdls  of  the  most  delicate  foliage,  i^peared 
to  the  eye  of  my  imagination  more  like  a  subterraneous  boudoir,  prepared 
by  some  gallant  young  magician  for  the  reception  of  an  enchanted  and 
enchanting  princess,  than  a  temple  consecrated  to  the  king  of  terrors." — 
pp.  816—327. 

Abx«.  IV. — Discoveries  in  Asia  Minor^  including  a  Descriptum  of  the  Ruins 
vf  seuerul  audewt  Cities.  By  the  Rev.  F.  V.  J.  Abundbll;     3  Vols. 
.    8fO.    London;  Bentley.  1834' 

If  Mr.  Artindell  has  been  tempted,  by  the  success  and  popularity 
vrUch  has  lately  attended  the  ^publication  of  several  of  the  nume- 
roufl   travels  into   the   eastern  parts   of  the  world,  with  which 
Europeans  have  hitherto  been  very  imperfectly  acquainted,  he  has 
presumed  too  much  upon  his  own  exertions  and  the  good  nature  of  ^ 
the  reading  public.     We  must  say,  the  work  before  us  is  very  un* 
satisfactory.     The  discoveries  he  makes  are  meagre ;  the  manner 
in  which  he  proceeded  to  work,  imperfect  and  injudicious;  and  the 
time  he  took  in  performing  the  duty  he  allotted  himself,  quite  inade- 
Guate.     That  he  has  added  to  our  geographical  knowledge  consi- 
dimbly  catoot  be  denied.     The  discovery  of  the  precise  site  of 
Antioeh  of  Pisidia  is  an  important  particular,  not  merely  on  ac- 
count of  the  eminent  character  it  had  in  ancient  times,  but  as  a 
key  to  the  geography  and  topography  of  the  adjacent  countries. 
But  this,  and  all  else  that  he  has  oone,  is  quite  disproportioned  to 
what  one  would  desire  to  find  in  such  a  field  of  ancient  renown  as 
)l.esser  Asia;  and,  we  must  add,  to  the  size  of  the  goodly  volomes, 
^hat  announce  themselves  as  containing  discoveries. 
.  The  manner  of  his  procedure,  and  the  taste  displayed  in  narra*- 
ting  ity  lure  not  much  better.     In  our  perusal  of  the  work,  we  have 
n^ore  than  once  put  the  question  to  oursdves  what  would  Liente* 
imxA  Bumesi  whose  travels  into  Bokhara  we  had  not  long  ago  oo- 
casioD  to  read,  have  done  in  such  a  prolific  territory  as  Lesser  Asia. 
Thii  maaly,  judicious,  and  enterprising  gentleman  would  have 
k«f4  up,  iuid  in  a  great  measure  satisfied,  the  earnest  and  solemn 


4S  DikemteirU9  •»'  AsiM  Mk»r. 

kmgfingsr  of  tfaelmDrt^  regarding  did  iand  atid  t&e  dties^irfaidi  (he 

{ersecuted  and  migbty  St.  Paul  has  consecrated  with  an  unparel^ 
^led  interest,  instead  of  blunting  our  eagerness^  and  quenching  our 
religious  enthusiasm^  as  the  work  before  us,  has  in  some  measure 
done.  But  we  must  come  to  the  inmiediate  duty  imposed  upon  us^ 
and  give  our  readers  as  deep  an  insight  as  our  limits  will  permit^ 
respecting  Mr.  Arundell's  discoveries^  which  we  will  attempt  to  do^ 
by  accompanying  him  on  his  way. 

In  October  1833,  the  author,  along  n^h  Mr.  Dethier,  the  accre- 
dited agent  of  the  Belgian  government,  left  Smyrna  with  some  other 
attea^ants,  and  proceeded  by  Nymphi  and  Cassaba  to  Sardis*  Be- 
tween the  two  hrat  named  towns,  a  spectacle  pres^ited  itself,  which 
the  author  tells  us  is  frequently  to  be  seen  since  the  destruetioit 
of  the  Janissaries  and  the  establishment  of  regular  troops.  This 
Was  a  number  of  lads,  few  of  them  above' fifteen  years  of  age,  who 
were  tied  together  with  strong  ropes,  like  a  caravan  of  camels 
guarded  by  Turks.  The  boys  did  not  seem  reluctant ;  but  one 
poor  woman  followed  them,  evidently  the  mother  of  one  of  them, 
m  all  the  agony  of  despair.  ^^  But  where  is  the  difference,  says  our 
author,  betweaa  those  recruits  and  the  conscripts  of  civilized 
France,  or  the  victims  of  a  pressgang  in  enlightened  and  rdigious 
Englaad  ?"  For  some  distance  after  this,  they  encountered  BoShing 
*^  more  remarkable  than  several  caravans  of  camels,  having  a  horse 
for  their  leader,  instead  of  tibeir  usual  conducteuVyBJi  ass  !  And 
this  on  the  venr  plains  where  Cyrus  owed  his  victory  over  CrcBSos, 
chiefly  to  the  horror  which  the  horses  of  that  day  had  for  the  gen** 
tleman  of  the  hunch-back."  Upon  this  last  sentence,  we  have 
only  to  remark,  that  such  is  the  sort  of  witticism  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman is  much  in  the  habit  of  using  in  the  course  of  these  volumes. 
Whether  the  display,  be  natural  light,  and  pungent,  or  forced  and 
unbecoming,  is  left  to  our  readers.  The  author,  however,  who 
seems  to  be  an  amiable  religious  man,  though  too  ^equently  sickly 
in  taste,  as  he  is  (and  we  are  sorry  to  loam  it)  in  body,  is  brought 
into  our  favour  by  the  following  passages,  ana  indeed  tlnrouig^out 
the  work,  by  similar  proofe  of  zeal  and  seriousness  : — ^ 

"  A  much  more  interesting  object  was  now  the  Acropolis  of  Bardis  rising 
before  us,  and  presenting  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  mountain  abovd 
the  town  of  Zonte,  and  the  soft  sand-stone  rock  distorted  and  rent  in  ihti 
szcme  extraordinary  manner,  and  perhaps  by  the  same  agency,  of  earth- 
quakes. 

"  With  our  eyes  fixed  on  this  crumblirig  monuinent  of  the  grandeur  and 
nothingness  of  man,  and  looking  in  vain  for  the  city,  whose  multitudes 
lie  under  the  countless  sepulchral  hillocks  on  the  other  side  of  the  Hdrmus, 
we  arrived  at  what  was  once  thi^  metropolis  of  Lydia. 

"If  I  should  be  asked  what  impresses  the  mind  most  strongly,  on  be- 
holding Sardis,  I  should  say,  its  indescribable  solitude,  like  the  darkneds  va. 
Egyi^,  darkness  that  could  be  felt.  So  the  deep  solitude  of  the  spot, 
once  the  *lady  ofkiMgdoms*  produces  a  corresponding  feeling  o(  de^oUiie 
abandonmetU  in  the  mind,  which  can  never  be  fcnr^otten. 


*tGciiiiwct  tbhtetiiig  witii  1^  nietsage  ofApomitypfle  thedmreh 
o(  Sardb : — 'Hioo  bf^  a  name  that  thou  livest,  and  art  dmid^  I  wiU 
come-  on  thee  as  a  thief ;  and  thou  aha  not  know  at  what  hour  I  will 
come  upon  thee  ;"-^and  then  look  round  and  ask,  wl^ere  are  the  churches* 
where  are  the  Christians  of  Sardis?  The  tiimuli  beyond  the  Hermus 
feply,  **Att  dead!'*  Suffering  the  infliction  of  the  threatened  judgment  of 
6od  for  the  abuse  of  their  privileges.  Let  the  unbeliever  then  be  asked, 
is  diere  no  truth  in  prophecy  ?  no  reality  in  religion  ?" — ^pp.  S7»  28. 

Tin  traveUera  amve  at  Koola,  after  passing,  in  their  approach  to 
the  town,  through  the  midst  of  Iftira,  the  ground  heing  cov^ed 
with  saall  ▼olcanie  stones.  Koola  contains  about  fifteen  hundred 
hoQscB^  one-tenth  of  which  are  Grtesk.  It  is  supposed  by  Cohmel 
Ikeake  to  stand  on  the  site  of  the  ancient  M ssonia,  though  this  s 
ct  varianoe  with  Pliny's  account.  The  wtnnen  of  this  town  are  de» 
scribed  ee  very  beaatifol.  The  tidgea  of  lava  are  numerous  aK 
ftronnd,  and  the  road,  which  passes  through  the  once  melted  and 
burning  stones^  rough,  and  frequently  steep.  They  ascend  what  he 
is  assured  was  the  Acropolis  of  the  town  of  Tabala,  but  found 
nothing  more  indicative  of  what  such  a  city  had  been  than  frag^ 
ments  of  walls,  cisterns,  and  houses.  The  eountry  increased  every 
step,  they  now  took,  in  interest  for  the  geologist ;  and  on  various 
gnMmds,  the  author  Uunhs  that  the  sea  nad  at  one  time  reached 
to  those  parts*  But  we  cannot  enter  upon  his  conjectures  and  rea- 
ionong.  We  go  on  to  the  village  of  Achmatk,  where  the  trav^llerd 
aiB  lodged  at  an  Oda,  a  charitdble  and  hospitable  place  of  enter- 
taiiunent  and  protection,  well  worth  a  notice  : — 

*'  It  was  not  till]the  present  journey  that  I  was  aware  of  ^e  precise  na- 
ture of  these  Odas,  and  of  their  universality  throughout  Asia  Minor.  They 
are  not  endowed  or  supported  by  the  government,  but  are  entirely  private 
charities.  One  at  least  is  to  be  found  in  every  village  throughout  the 
country,  and  often  several  in  a  small  village.  The  original  founder  charges 
his- estate,  be  it  great  or  little,  with  the  perpetual  maintenance  of  the 
Oda ;  and  it  seems  in  most  cases  to  be  tiie  tenure  by  which  the  estate 
k  heU*  Nor  is  this  confined  to  the  wealthy ;  it  as  frequently  happens  that 
even  a  poor  man,  whose  little  spot  of  ground  is  barely  sufficient,  after 
paying,  the  Aga's  decimes,  &c.  to  find  bread  for  his  children,  charges 
them  .to  keep  a  chamber  (perhaps  the  whole  house  has  only  two)  as  an 
Oda  for  the  stranger.  No  questions  are  asked  of  this  stranger  whether 
he  be  a  disciple  of  the  prophet,  a  Christian,  or  a  Jew — it  is  enough  that 
he  is  a  stranger,  and  needs  the  rights  of  hospitality.  He  is  provided  gratu- 
itously with  food»  and  fuel,  and  lodging,  and  even  the  liberality  is  ex- 
tended to  his  beast. 

"We  abuse  the  Turk,  and  call  hima  barbarian ; .  but  where  is  the  country 
in  civilized  Europe,  that  a  poor,  distressed  traveller,  faint  and  sinkiag 
under  his  privations^,  and  without  a  farthing  to  procure  a  bit  qi  bread,  or 
ashed  to  shelter  him  from  the  winter's  storm — where  is  that  country  ? — 
let  the  abusers  of  the  uncivilized  Turk  answer  the  question— where  is 
that  country  in  which  such  a  poor  wretch  will  find  from  village  to  village 
a  warm-hearted  reception,  lo<^ing,  and  food?" — pp.  72, 73, 


44  Discoveries  in  Ash  Minor, 

A  few  hours  after  leaving  Achmatlaj  they  come  to  the  neighbour* 
hood  of  the  ruins  of  a  place  caDed  Suleiman^  hitherto  wholly  un- 
known to  Europeans,  an  important  part  of  their  projected  tour. 
On  ascending  the  Acropolis,  they  discovered  extensive  and  magni- 
ficent ruins,  which  are  minutely  described,  and  all  around  innume- 
rable tombs,  many  of  which  are  converted  into  capital  houses  for 
bufialoes,  being  excavated  in  the  mountain,  the  summit  of  which 
is  crowned  with  the  ruins  alluded  to.  The  account  given  of  these 
is  much  too  long  to  be  here  quoted.  The  author,  however,  conjec- 
tures tliat  this  place  is  Clanudda,  which  name,  he  tells  us,  occurs 
in  the  Roman  Itinerary,  called  the  Pentinger  Tables.  We  can 
aSbid  only  as  much  as  to  show  the  magnitude  of  prostrate  gran- 
deur, which,  Mr.  Arundell  says,  would  afford  them  ample  scope  for 
a  month's  research;  the  tombs,  as  he  thinks,  containing  treasures, 
and  probably  many  curious  specimens  of  ancient  paintings  :— 

"  The  road  leading  round  the  east  or  south-east  side  brought  us  first  to 
tlie  theatre,  of  which  the  remains  of  seats  are  few,  though  enough  of  the 
basement  of  the  proscenium  remains  to  determine  its  form ;  the  breadth 
being  about  ninety-feet. . 

''  Beyond  and  above  this,  the  wall  of  the  acropolis  is  seen  extending  a 
considerable  way ;  and,  entering  through  a  ruined  dourwayi  we  came  to 
what  at  first  appeared  to  be  the  stadium,  a  long  and  narrow  hollow  with 
remains  of  entrances  on  the  north  side ;  but  we  changed  our  opinions  af- 
terwards-—it  may  have  been  a  portico. 

«« Near  this  is  an  arch  more  than  half  buried,  and  a  few  yards  beyond, 
towards  the  north  or  north-east,  are  the  considerable  remains  of  a  large 
gateway  of  yeUow  stone,  with  some  fragments  of  an  earlier  date. 

"  Arrived  here^  we  could  perceive  that  we  were  on  a  tongue  of  land  or 
isthmus ;  the  acropolis  on  three  sides  being  nearly  a  precipice,  and  on  the 
north,  or  fourth,  defended  by  the  city  wall,  of  which  this  gateway  formed 
the  entrance,  at  the  neck  of  the  isthmus,  being  here  only  about  seventy- 
feet- wide. 

''Passing  through  the  gate  and  without  the  walls,  on  a  narrow  temce* 
overlooking  a  valley  of  great  depth,  are  the  basement  and  members  of  a 
temple  of  white  sculptured  marble;  a  little  beyond  which,  the  prostrate 
remains  of  another  temple  ;  which,  from  the  beautiful  Ionic  ornaments, 
we  shall  call  an  Ionic  temple,  if  the  remains  of  a  statue  of  Roman  cos- 
tume, probably  an  emperor,  did  not  make  it  more  probable  that  the  order 
was  composite.  Still  farther  on  the  same  continued  line,  the  basementj 
elevated  on  some  steps,  of  another  and  smaller  temple. 

'*  Immediately  in  front  of  this  last  temple,  on  the  brow  of  the  mountain 
or  terrace  overlooking  the  valley,  are  three  arches,  about  fifteen  feet  wide, 
and  ten  feet  high ;  there  are  appearances  of  other  arches  continued  some 
way  beyand. — ^pp.  81 — 83. 

It  is  vexatious  when  we  are  told  by  the  author  that  they  were 
compelled  to  leave  such  a  scene,  compelled  merely  by  their  own 
arrangements ;  and  this  it  is,  that  makes  us  almost  regret  they 
entered  upon  the  field  at  all.  But  we  hope  their  meagre  notice  of 
the  ruins  at  Suleiman,  will  be  sufiicieut  to  prompt  more  indefatiga- 
ble tourists  to  explore  the  same  parts.     It  is  not  by  any  means 


IHscweries  in  Asia  Mitt&r,  45 

the  only  occasrion,  however,  which  the  author  affords  us  reason  to 
blame,  or  at  least  lament,  the  hurried  manner  in  which  his  enter-} 
prize  was  conducted.  What  indeed  could  be  expected  of  travds 
into  unknown  districts,  those  too  of  Lesser  Asia,  though  now  a 
land  of  barbarism  and  ignorance,  yet  so  '^  exuberant,"  as  he  says, 
in  antiquities,  that,  with  no  better  implement  than  a  penknife,  you 
may  dig  up  bags  full  of  medals  and  vases  wherever  you  please, 
when  those  travels  only  occupied  six  weeks  ! 

The  author,  however,  gives  a  ground  plan  of  the  ruins  at  Sulei*- 
man  or  Clanudda,  and  there  is  a  lithographic  view  of  the  localities 
and  mountain,  crowned  by  the  Acropolis,  beautifully  executed, 
which  help  to  make  amends  for  the  want  of  more  precise  matter. 
He  is  now  in  Phrygia,  and  this  leads  us  to  observe,  that  the  map 
gtvefi,  is,  we  think,  v&ry  correct,  and  certainly  very  intelligible.. 
Kobek  is  ihe  place  next  described,  *^  of  prepossessing  appearance, 
with  il3B  minarets  and  oonac."  The  columns  and  other  fragments 
brought  from  Suleiman,  not  for  distant,  are  numerous  and  abun- 
dant. But  mark  the  tantalizing  information  :i — *^  If  a  traveller  could 
remain  a  day  here  (it  is,  gentle  reader,  only  one  day,  in  Mr.  Aran- 
dell's  book  of  discoveries)  and  be  permitted  to  see  the  inscriptions 
which  unquestionably  must  exist  in  the  mosques  and  private  houses, 
(and  we  say,  from  his  own  narrative,  all  this  is  uvquestionably 
eafijiy  obtained),  the  name  of  the  city  of  Suleiman  would  speedily, 
be  brought  to  light.  Speedily  is  the  word,  and  our  discoverer 
would  not  remain  to  do  a  thing  speedily.  We  are  waxing  wroth, 
a  thing  unusual  and  inconvenient  to  us,  and  therefore  pass  we  on 
to  matter  for  the  faculty,  found  at  the  next  village : — 

"  Mtmday,  Oct  22. — ^The  elevated  situation  of  Cuselare  appears  so  fa- 
▼oimble  to  health,  and  the  general  appearance  of  the  villagers  bore  such. 
evidence  of  its  being  so,  that  we  were  surprised  to  have  our  researches  of 
Beah-sher  delayed  till  ten  o'clock,  by  the  multitude  of  patients  coming  to 
consult  the  Hakim. 

••  Onr  medical  science  was  not  sufficiently  profound  to  decide  correctly- 
on  the  nature  of  the  disorder — ^for  all  were  effected  precisely  in  the  same 
way,  with  tumours  and  boils  behind  the  ears,  on  the  breast,  hands,  and 
feet.  The  females  and  children  were  most  severely  attacked,  and  it  was 
not  a  passing  epidemic,  but  a  disorder  long  seated  in  the  village,  and, 
as  ftor  as  we  could  learn,  the  only  disorder  it  was  subject  to. 

**  Possibly  £he  scarcity  of  water,  and  that  of  an  indifferent  quality,maybe 
the  prmci^l  cause.  In  addition  to  our  pill-box,  we  thought  the  hot  baths* 
wMch  we  heard  of  as  being  about  two  hours  to  the  south  of  Cuselare,  might 
be  beneficial,  and  recommended  them  to  our  patients." — ^pp.  100,  101, 

There  are  ample  grounds,  we  tliink,  for  blaming  Mr.  Arundell 
very  roundly,  for  the  hasty  and  sometimes  slovenly  way  in  which  he 
dis|)Oses  of  things,  from  whom  we  expected  to  hear  and  learn  a  great 
ieaL  We  must  not,  however,  withhold  something  like  an  apology, 
suggested  by  a  letter  written  by  Kyriacos,  one  of  his  companions, 
vIk)  thus  expressed  himself  from  the  neighbourhood  of  (he  scenes 


46  IXfComri^'m  Asia  MMn 

ottr  antkor  i»  traver^g,  in  the  year  1827^  when  tradmg  in  carpetp^ 
which  are  exclusively  aealt  in  at  those  quarters  : — 

**•  How  IB  it  possible  to  get  information  respecting  ancient  remains  frajii 
barbarians  without  an  atom  of  cuiiositv,  and  who,  whenever  such  questions 
are  asked,  nerer  fail  to  suspect  that  the  inquirer  has  ever  in  view  the  dis* 
covery  of  hidden  treasures,  which  treasures  they  finnly  believe  to  be 
under  safe  keeping  of  spirits  and  demons,  insomueh  that  they  thiiik  the 
very  treasure  itself  (the  pieces  of  money)  have  the  virtue  to  drive  aw&y 
spirits,  and  that  therefore  we  inquire  th^  names  and  situataon  of  roads^ 
of  ruins,  and  towns,  that  we  may  be  the  better  informed  where  tadig  fer 
treasures.  This  behef  is  firmly  fixed  in  the  minds  of  both  Gtreeks  and 
Turks;  and,  in  addition  to  this, they  think  that  the  search  for  old  remain* 
is  only  pretence  to  get  better  information  to  betray  the  places  to  the  eae* 
my  of  the  Turks.  Now,  since  this  is  the  case,  you  will  be  satisfied  at 
present  with  the  imperfect  information  I  am  able  to  give.'* — pp^  111,  11 2^ 

*' We  pass  over  various  references  to  the  author's  former  ioumey 
to  some  of  the  towns  mentioned^  which  has  been  heretofore  pubHshed, 
and  some  long  yams  told  by  an  old  blind  Turk,  which  swell  the 
work,  without  adding  much  additional  light  to  Lesser  Asia.  He 
gains  Ishekli,  which  he  asserts  positively,  on  the  evidence  of 
mscriptions,  stands  on  the  site  of  the  ancient  city  of  Euroenia ;  and 
soon  after  Decnare,  ascertained,  he  also  tells  us,  to  be  where  stood 
Apamea,  celebrated  firom  its  connection  with  the  name  of  Cicero 
and  other  eminent  Romans.  These  discoveries,  however,  are  not 
the  result  of  this  journey.  The  appearances  at  this  latter  place 
have  been,  in  the  course  of  ages,  greatly  altered  by  earthquakes,  so 
as  to  render  it  extremely  difHcult  now  to  follow  ancient  historians. 
Here  are  highly  entertaining  conjectores  connected  with  Apamea,, 

**  Severely  as  Apamea  has  suffered  in  all  periods  of  her  history  from  earth- 
quakes, she  was  not  included  in  the  list  of  the  twelve  cities  of  Asia  which 
were  overthrown  in  the  fifth  year  of  Tiberius,  and  therefore  the  descrip- 
tions which  I  found,  and  which  are  published  in  my  first  journey,  do  not 
relate  to  the  liberality  of  that  emperor,  but  to  a  subsequent  earthquake 
in  the  reign  of  Tiberius  Claudius,  mentioned  by  Tacitus:  'To  the  citLr 
zens  of  Apamea,  whose  city  had  been  overthrown  by  an  earthquake,  the 
tribute  was  remitted  for  five  years*.**     This  was  A.U.  807.  and  A.  54. 

**  It  is  a  curious  coincidence,  and  well-  worthy  attention,  for  I  do  not 
recollect  to  have  ever  seen  it  mentioned,  that  the  earthquake  which  hap- 
pened at  Philippi,  and  by  which  the  doors  of  Paul's  prison  wei^  opened, was 
the  year  53,  perhaps  a  few  months  only  before  the  tribute  was  remitted  to 
the  citizens  of  Apamea.  Now,  an  earthquake  sufficiently  strong  to  over<- 
throw  a  city  in  Asia  Minor  would  be  felt  strongly  also  in  the  remoter 
distances  of  Macedonia — sufficiently  strong,  perhaps,  to  open  the  bars  « 
of  a  prison  door.  The  gpreat  earthquake  at  Aleppo  was  felt  severely  in 
Smyrna,  though  no  buildings  were  thrown  down.  As  God  often  works 
miracles  even  by  natural  causes,  so  the  prison  doors  being  opened  to 
Paul  by  the  earthquake  would  still  be  the  effect  of  divine  agency.  Does 
not  this  fact  afford  much  internal  evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  sacred  his- 
torians, —pp.  206,  207. 

Again, 

"^*t  tradition  has  honoured  Apamea  by  connecting  it  with  an  event 


JH»em>erie»  in  Asia  Mmor.  47 

which  has  produced  more  impprtant  cbaageB  in  the  wodd  thao  eaxi^ 
quakes — the  general  deluge,  la  the  Sybilluie  verses,  which  though  pro- 
bably spurious^  are  very  ancient,  we  are  told  that  Mount  Ararat,  on  which 
die  ark  rested,  is  on  the  confines  of  Phrygia,  at  the  sources  of  the  river 
Margyas,  and  hence  it  is  supposed  that  Apameawas  called  Apamea  Kiob- 
tos,  or  Apamea,  the  ark,  distinguishiiig  it  from  other  cities  of  the  same 
name. 

••  'The  aric,*  says  Bochart,  '*  a  Ktde  while  after  the  subsidence  of  the 
waters  of  the  deluge,  is  said  by  Moses  to  have  rested  upon  the  mountains 
Aficat.'  In  what  part  of  the  world  are  these  mountains  ?  Ilie  Sybil- 
line  verses  decide  the  question. 

^ '  On  the  frontiers  oiF  the  black  Phrygia  rises  a  lofty  mountain,  called 
Ararat. 

'*  If,  then,  we  may  believe  the  Sibyl,  Mount  Ararat  was  in  Phrygia ; 
and,  if  we  would  know  the  precise  spot  in  Phrygia,  she  will  tell  as  it  was 
'  at  the  sources  of  the  great  river  Marsyas.' 

"  If  you  are  still  incredulous,  the  Sibyl  will  kindly  offeir  her  personal 
testimony  to  the  fact ;  and  that  you  may  admit  she  is  a  competent  witness, 
she  tells  you  she  is  no  less  a  personage  than  the  daughter-in-law  of  Noahj^ 
whether  wife  of  Shem,  Ham,  or  Japhet,  does  not  appear,  and  was  of  the 
happy  number  who  escaped  the  destroying  waters." — ^pp.  208 — 210. 
'  This  latter  conjecture  is  much  and  strongly  opposed  by  various 
i^ts  and  theories,  which  we  have  not  room  to  discuss.  Although  no 
niention  is  made  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  of  Apemea  having  been 
dislinguished  by  the  presence  of  St.  Paul,  our  author,  with  good 
reason,  supposes,  since  it  was  only  inferior  to  Laodicea  and 
Ephesus,  that  it  must  have  been  included,  when  he  is  said  to  have 
gone  ^*  throughout  Phrygia,  and  the  region  of  Galilee. "  Be  this  as 
it  may,  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  church  were  discovered  there  by  Mr. 
Arundell  and  his  friends. 

•'  This  church  \&  constructed  of  very  large  blocks  of  grey  marble,  with- 
out cement,  having  on  many  of  the  blocks  single  Greek  letters,  to  guide 
the  workmen  to  their  proper  position,  and  therefore  possibly  belonging  to 
some  eaxHer  edifice. 

"The  length  within  the  great  edifice  is  nearly  sixty  feet,  and  the  breadth 
forty-five  feet.  The  breadth  of  the  inner  portico  fifteen  feet ;  and  at  each 
side  of  the  portico,  connected  with  it  by  a  door- way,  is  a  small  inclosed 
space  of  fifteen  feet  square.  The  outer  portico  is  seventy-five  feet  wide 
add  fifteen  in  breadth.  This  Ls  open  in  front,  and  had  probably  a  row  of 
ccdumns,  though  there  are  no  remains  of  any ;  and  as  the  ground  falls  in 
front,  there  was  probably  an  ascent  of  some  steps. 

"  At  the  eastern  end,  for  ^he  building  stood  east  and  west,  is  the  Bema^ 
a  semicircle  of  fifteen  feet  wide  and  about  nine  feet  deep. 

"  The  inner  portico  had  three  doors  of  entrance  into  the  church,  the 
centre  or  grand  entrance,  and  a  smaller  one  on  either  side. 

••  On  several  of  the  blocks  is  the  Greek  cross,  but  apparently  cut  in  later 
times. 

"  U]:km  many  of  the  tombs  on  the  hill  below  the  church,  the  cross  is 
ilso  to  be  seen  ;  Christian  sepulchres  of  a  very  early  date." — ^pp.  217, 218. 

We  now  come  to  the  "  principal  objects  proposed  by  the  author 
in  this  journey — the  discovery  of  the  city  of  Antioch^  in  Pisidia,. 


48  Discoveries  in  Asia  Minor. 

and  the  towns  of  Lystra  and  Derbe^  places  possessing  so  mucli 
interest  from  the  Inoours  and  sufferings  of  St.  Paul^  and  yet  the 
very  situation  of  all  three  is  wholly  unknown  in  modern  geography." 
Twenty-five  miles  distance  from  Apamea  they  discovered  the  noble 
remains  of  the  town  of  ApoUonia,  at  a  place  called  Olou-bourlou. 
Here  the  Acropolis  is  a  naked  perpendicular  rock  of  stupendous 
height.  After  narrating  the  difficulty  they  had  in  obtaining  leave 
from  the  Aga^  or  governor  of  the  town,  to  inspect  the  antiquities 
within  his  jurisdiction^  they  enter  the  gateway  of  the  Acropolis^  and 
come  upon  a  small  Greek  colony  of  about  three  hundred  persons, 
separated  altogether  from  the  rest  of  the  Turkish  inhabitants,  who, 
according  to  their  own  accounts,  had  occupied  their  present  posi- 
tion from  the  earliest  times.  They  intermarry  only  among  them- 
sdves,  and  have  no  connexion  vnth  any  other  Christians  from 
without,  though  included  within  the  diocese  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Pisidia.  Oiir  author  says,  there  was  something  so  primitive  in  their 
maimer  and  appearance  that  he  could  readily  believe  their  story, 
and  he  fancied  seeing  in  them  the  representatives  of  the  Antiodi 
Christians^  who  had  been  driven  from  that  city  by  the  earlier  per- 
secutions. The  Papas  was  a  venerable  old  man,  who  had  been  a 
widower  nearly  forty  years.  Their  church  was  an  ancient  structure, 
though  on  the  foundation  of  a  much  earlier  one.  Numerous  frag- 
ments and  mutilated  inscriptions  are  fixed  on  the  outer  walls. 
When  manuscripts  were  inquired  after,  the  Papa  gave  the  usual 
answer,  that  many  such  had  been  destroyed  not  long  ago  to  bind 
books.  ^'  These  Greek  Christians,"  continues  Mr.  Arundell,  ^'  knew 
nothing  of  their  own  language,  and  were  very  thankfiil  when  I 
offered  to  send  them  a  few  Testaments  in  Turkish,  and,  if  possible, 
some  elementary  books  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  a  schod." 
The  inscriptions  found  at  this  place  completely  established  that  it 
was  the  site  of  ancient  ApoUonia. 

The  discovery  of  this  ancient  town  at  once  assured  the  travellers 
ot  the  greater  object  of  their  journey,  that  of  Antioch  of  Pisidia  ; 
the  distance  between  the  two  being  forty-five  miles.  They  arrive 
at  Yalabatz.  Here  the  quantity  of  immense  squared  blocks  of 
stone  and  sculptured  fragments,  which  they  saw  would  of  them- 
selves have  convinced  the  traveUers  that  they  were  on  the  site  of 
a  great  city,  independent  of  the  aqueduct  wnich  they  discovered. 
Leaving  Yalobatz,  and  going  on  the  north  side  of  it,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  aqueduct^  they  gained  an  elevated  plateau,  accuratlely 
described  by  Strabo. 

"  Ijcaving  the  town,  and  going  on  the  north  side  of  it,  in  the  dixectioii 
of  the  aqueduct,  we  were  soon  upon  an  elevated  plateau,  accurately 
described  by  Strabo,  by  the  name  of  ^^oc  The  quantity  of  ancient 
pottery,  independently  of  the  ruins,  told  ns  at  once  that  we  were  upon  the 
emplacement  of  the  city  of  Antioch.  The  Superb  members  of  a  temple, 
which  from  the  thyrsus  on  many  of  them  evidently  belonged  to  Bacchus, 
was  the  first  thing  we  saw.  Passing  on,  a  long  and  immense  building, 
constructed  with  prodigious  stones,  and  standing  east  and  west,  made  me 


antateui  a  iiope  tkai  it  aught  be  a  chuick-^^  chuveh  of  Antioch  (  It  was 
a^;  the  gtound  plan,  with  the  circular  end  for  the  bema  all  xemaiDing' ! 
Willmgfy  would  I  have  remained  hours  in  the  midst  of  a  tem})le— perha|)6 
oae  of  the  very  earliest  consecrated  to  the  Saviour ;  but  wc  were  obliged 
to  hasten  on. 

"  The  next  thing  that  attracted  our  notice,  were  two  large  magnificent 
aEefaes»  a  aouterrain  running  fieur  beneath  tbe  hill,  and  supporting  ^e  plat- 
iorm  of  a  superb  tenq)le.  A  high  wall  of  immense  stones,  without  cement, 
iiext  ofsenxred,  part  probaMy  of  the  gate  of  the  city^  and  near  it  the  ground 
plan  of  anotker  building. 

*•  Fwom  henoe  ran  a  wall,  at  least  its  ruins,  along  towards  the  aqueduct, 
ovwning  lite  brow  of  the  hill,  and  abruptly  terminating  where  the  hill 
liecame  so  pred^Mtous  as  to  require  no  defence.  The  remains  of  the  aque- 
dnd,  of  whioh  twenty-one  ajnshes  are  perfect*  are  the  most  splendid  I  ever 
beheld ;  the  stones,  without  •oement,  of  the  same  niassy  dimensions  as  in 
the  wall. 

^  "  The  view,  when  near  the  aqueduct,  was  enchanting,  and  well  entitled 
Antioch  to  its  nui&  of  capital  of  the  province  of  Pisidia.  In  the  valley  on 
Ae  left,  groves  of  pophrs  and  weeping  willows  seemed  to  sing  the  song  of 
Ab  psalmost,  '  We  hanged  our  harps  upon  the  willows,'  &c.  mourning,  as 
aft  Babylon,  for  the  mekncholy  fate  of  this  once  great  Christian  city.  Not 
A  Christian  now  resides  in  it,  except  a  sin^e  (ireek  in  the  khan.  Net  a 
«lnreh  mor  any  friest  to  officiate,  where  Paul  and  Bami^Mts,  and  their  sue- 
eeaseiBy  ^onvtrted  the  tilousands  of  idolaters  to  the  true  faith  !"-^pp.  268 
070* 

Where  the  Synagogue  once  stood,  and  the  mansions  that  hospi- 
4Ably  received  the  aposdes,  and  those  of  their  persecntore,  who 
drove  them  from  the  city,  all  now  is  obliterated  and  levelled  to  tbe 
grmmd.  ,  A  lithographic  drawing  is  jndicioasly  here  introduced, 
which  gives  an  impressive  and  dear  idea  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
trv^  representing  the  rugged  Alpine  Peaks  of  Mount  TauruSj  covered 
with  snow,  in  me  distance.  Certain  ruins  were  examined^  which 
proved  themselves  to  be  those  of  the  temple  of  Bacchus.  Besides 
tbe  ThyxsiiSj  they  found  an  inacription  in  which  L.  Calpurnius  is 
Qiflad  ^'  High  Priest  for  life  of  the  most  glorious  god  Baochus :" — ^ 

■*  While  Mr.  Dethier  was  making  a  sketch,  Kyriacos  assisted  me  in  aaea- 
«unng  the  church  of  Antioch,  one  hundred  and  sixty  feet  long,  without 
tbe  portico,  and  eighty  feet  wide.  Perhaps  we  were  standing  on  tbe 
very  spot  where  Paul  made  his  admirable  sermon  ;  for  it  is  very  natural 
to  suppose  that  the  oldest  church  was  built  upon  the  site  of  the 
synagogue. 

To  the  north  of  the  church,  and  nearly  in  a  line  with  it,  are  the  arches 
of  a  grand  souterrain,  and  the  platform  of  a  very  large  temple  above 
them ;  but  nothing  more  than  the  groimd-plan  remains.  From  hence 
I  went  to  join  Mr.  Dethier,  while  Kyriacos,  who  had  not  as  much  anti- 
quarian mania  as  ourselves,  very  wisely  perched  himself  on  the  top  of  one 
of  the  arches,  patiently  awaiting  our  retui'n. 

"The  remains  of  a  theatre  lie  on  the  east  side  of  the  church,  on  a  little 
aseent.  The  seats  are  all  removed,  and^the  diameter  not  exceeding  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet.  Beyond  the  theatre,  ascending  still  on  the  east, 
a  fittle  on  the  left,  are  vestages  of  another  church  of  small  size. 

VOL.  in.  (1S34.)  NO.  1  K 


50  Discoveries  in  Asia  Minor, 

**  Above  this  are  remains  of  walls  on  either  side,  as  if  the  continuation 

of  a  street,  terminated  at  the  distance  of  about  three  hundred  feet  by  the 

isolid  rock  being  cut  in  a  semicircular  form  and  perpendicularly,  with 

square  holes  all  round,   as  if  for  beams,   about   eight  feet  from   the 

ground. 

"  The  breadth  of  this  semicircular  area  was  about  one  hundred  and  sixty 
feet,  and  its  depth  probably  as  much.  But  within  the  circular  part  near  the 
head,  rises  an  oblong  inclosure,  hewn  also  out  of  the  solid  rock,  though 
the  numerous  fragments  of  fluted  columns  and  sculptured  stones  prov- 
ed that  some  building  once  stood  above  it,  which,  though  of  small  di- 
mensions, must  have  been  very  magnificent.  A  sort  of  well  or  reservoir 
occupied  the  centre  of  this  oblong  inclosure,  the  length  of  which  was 
about  twenty  feet.  Before  the  reservoir  part,  and  connected  with  it,  was 
a  square  platform  about  twenty-five  feet  long  and  twenty-five  wide.  Out- 
side the  reservoir,  the  rock  is  cut  all  round  with  steps.  In  front  of  the 
whole  is  a  level  space,  after  which  the  ground  falls,  and  some  founda- 
tions show  there  had  been  an  ascent  by  steps. 

'*  The  pillars  are  of  white  marble,  fluted,  and  three  feet  in  diameter — 
the  capitals  Corinthian.  On  what  appeared  fragments  of  the  frieze  were 
a  victory,^  and  the  caput  bo  vis  between  garlands — and  on  another  a  lion, 
and  a  winged  animal  having  a  bull's  head.  I  am  not  an  architect,  and 
it  would  be  presuming  to  decide  upon  the  nature  of  this  curious  place ; 
but  if  I  may  hazard  a  conjecture,  may  it  not  be  a  portico,  and  of  that 
kind,  which  from  its  semicircular  shape  was  called  Sigma,  because  re 
sembling  the  form  of  that  letter.  The  sculpture  was  spirited  and  in 
good  taste.  If,  instead  of  a  portico,  this  edifice  was  a  temple,  I  should 
take  it  to  be  the  temple  of  Lunus,  or  Men  Arcaeus,  whose  worship  was 
established  at  Antioch. 

''About  three  hundred  feet  to  the  south  of  this  portico  was  an  elevated 
spot  with  foundations,  perhaps  the  acropolis.  Excavations  were  going 
on  in  every  direction,  and  the  workmen  were  every  moment  uncovering 
columns  and  foundations.  It  is  therefore  extraordinary  that  so  much 
yet  exists  above  ground. 

*•  We  now  descended  by  a  cemetery  to  the  river,  where  we  were  told 
were  numerous  incriptions,  but  we  found  none,  though  the  wall  which 
bordered  the  river  all  the  way,  even  beyond  the  town,  was  composed 
almost  entirely  of  ancient  fragments,  and  square  blocks." — ^pp  272 — 275. 

We  have  been  endeavouring  to  give  a  favourable  specimen  and 
hasty  outline  of  Mr.  Arundell's  work,  and  we  shall  not  pause  here  to 
notice  the  trifling  and  unsuitably  placed  anecdotes,  and  would -be 
laughable  things^  that  are  sometimes  intermixed.  Our  desire  is  to 
keep  to  manly  and  serious  matter.  We  therefore  join  the  author  in 
declaring  how  delightful  it  is  to  suppose,  that  such  Arch-priests, 
as  many  of  the  inscriptions  found  mention,  may  have  been  of  the 
Gentiles,  who  besought  that  the  word  of  the  Lord  might  he 
preached  unto  them  ;  and,  hearing  it,  were  glad,  and  glorified  God  : 
and,  believing,  were  ordained  to  eternal  life  ! — 

"  Each  spot  trodden  by  an  apostle  must  be  regarded  by  Christians  with 
some  of  those  feelings  of  solemn  and  serious  delight,  which  they  cannot 
describe,  which  none  but  themselves  can  understand.    At  the  j^lace  where 


DUcoveries  in  Asia  Minor,  51 

a  martyr  died»  or  where  his  corpse  was  interred,  the  most  languid  believer 
may  be  expected  to  form  new  resolutions  of  devotedness  to  his  Divine 
Master,  and  consecrate  himself  to  new  fidelity,  in  following  those  who 
through  the  faith  of  suffering,  and  the  patience  of  martyrdom,  inherited  the 
premises" 

"  If  the  Syrian  Antioch  had  the  high  privilege  of  being  the  spot  where 
the  disciples  of  Jesus  were  first  denominated  by  the  name  of  their  Master, 
Antioch  of  Pisidia  stands  almost  as  prominently  distinguished,  as  the 
place  where,  the  Jews  having  rejected  the  offer  of  salvation,  the  glad  tidings 
and  privileges  of  the  gospel  were  offered  to  the  Gentile  world, — I  may  say 
first  offered,  for  though  the  family  of  ComeHus,  and  the  proconsul  of 
Cyprus,  are  instances  of  Gentile  conversions,  previous  to  the  arrival  of 
Paul  and  Barnabas  at  Antioch,  yet  we  read  of  no  other  place  in  which  the 
gospel  is  offered  to  the  acceptance  of  the  Gentiles  after  its  rejection  by 
the  Jews."— pp.  294—296. 

The  evidence  adduced  by  Mr.  Arundell  of  the  identity  of  the 
ancient  city  he  has  been  describing  with  Antioch  of  Pisidia  is 
ample  and  quite  satisfactory.  His  purpose^  on  setting  out  on  this 
exploring  tour,  was  to  proceed  in  search  of  Lystra  and  Derbe ;  but 
the  advanced  period  of  the  year^  and  the  Egyptian  army  in  the 
neighbourhood,  under  Ibraham  Pasha,  together  with  the  passing 
of  troops  all  over  the  country,  made  the  travellers  determine  on 
returning,  but  not  hy  the  same  route  they  advanced.  Accordingly, 
aft^r  coasting  nearly  three  sides  of  the  lake  of  Eyendir,  and  going 
by  Isbarta  to  Sagalassus,  they « came  back  by  Bourdour,  ^'and 
thence  by  a  route,  in  great  part  new,  to  the  back  of  Chonas."  We 
have  not  found,  however,  the  return  so  interesting  as  the  advance  ; 
and  therefore  will,  after  submitting  a  few  extracts  to  our  readers, 
dismiss  the  work.  Take  the  following  solution  of  a  passage  in  the 
New  Testament : — 

"  Ab  we  were  ascending  the  hill,  I  saw  something  shining  on  the  road, 
which  int)ved  to  be  one  of  the  needles  used  by  the  camel-drivers  for 
mending  their  camel  furniture.  It  was  about  six  inches  long,  and  had  a 
large,  very  long  eye';  it  had  evidently  been  dropped  by  one  of  the  con- 
ductors of  a  caravan  which  was  some  Uttle  way  a-head  of  us,  and  of  which 
the  sound  of  the  camel  bells,  as  it  was  occasionally  brought  to  us  by  the 
wind,  was  so  agreeable,  that  I  was  not  surprised  Mr.  Lovell  should  call 
the  camels  lovers  of  music. 

'*  This  association  of  the  needle  with  the  camels  at  once  reminded  me 
of  the  passage  which  has  been  considered  so  difficult  to  be  illustrated. 
'  It  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of  a  needle,  than  for  a 
rich  man  to  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.' 

'*  Why  should  it  not  be  taken  literally  ?  As  the  usages  of  the  east  are 
as  unvarying  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  I  can  easily  imagine 
that  even  the  camel  driver  of  Rachel  carried  his  needles  about  with  him  to 
mend  '  the  furniture  ;'  and  the  equipment  of  a  camel  driverin  those  days 
could  not  well  have  been  more  sitople  than  at  present ;  comprising  simpiy 
his  long  benish  or  cloak  of  white  felt  or  coarse  cloth,  the  shield  against 
San  and  cold  by  day,  and  his  bed  by  night ;  a  tinned  casatij  or  crock,  for 
his  pillau,  and  all  iixe  other  uses  of  the  cuisine ;  a  wooden  bowl  to  prepare 

e3 


53  Discoveries  in  Ana  Minor. 

the  baiiey  or  dari  balb  for  liia  camek,  and  bis  needles  and  cordage.     Hi* 
ihort  pipe  and  tobacco-bag  are  luxuries  of  modem  days. 

**  llie  needle,  from  its  constant  and  daily  use,  must  baire  held  a  pro* 
minent  place  in  his  structure  of  ideas  and  imagery ;  and  as  we  know  how 
fertile  the  imaginations  of  these  camel-drivers  were  in  furnishing  us  with 
proverbs  and  legendary  tales,  for  Mahomet  is  said  to  have  heard  the  story 
of  the  seven  sleepers  of  Ephesus  from  a  fellow  camel-driver,  why  may  not 
the  impracticability  of  a  camel's  passing  through  the  eye  of  his  needle,  even 
a  common  camel,  much  more  the  double  hunched  gentleman  of  Bactria, 
have  been  a  common  expression  to  denote  an  impossibility  ?"-*^p.  Ii0 
—121. 

The  author^  when  speaking  of  establishing  a  school  at  Ephesus^ 
says  truly^  that  volumes  have  been  written  on  the  question^  whether 
Dr.  Bell  or  Mr.  Lancaster^  is  to  have  the  honour  of  the  invention 
of  the  system  of  mutuel  enseignement.  It  is,  he  continues,  not  ge- 
nerally known^  if  known  at  afi,  that  this  system  was  aotaally  in 
use  at  the  great  seat  of  ancient  leamincf,  Athens^  one  hundred 
and  fifty  vears  ago,  as  may  be  seen  by  referring  to  a  small  volume^ 
in  French,  called  ^^  Ath^nes  Ancienne  et  M odeme.'*  The  author  is 
the  Sieur  de  la  Guilletidre,  and  the  work  was  pubhshed  in  1675. 
The  following  is  the  account  of  the  school  systan  which  he 
gives : — 

*'  Our  janissary  proposed  to  us  to  go  and  see  a  Greek  of  his  acquunt- 
ance,  who  was  a  didascolos,  or  schoolmaster.  We  desired  no  better, 
and  were  upon  thorns  till  we  were  with  him ;  but  alas !  how  were  we 
disappointed,  {who  expected  nothing  but  the  sublime  notions  of  Plato, 
Zeno,  and  Aristotle,)  when  the  janissary  told  us  he  was  a  meokamc — ^bow 
'  were  we  surprise  to  consider  a  man  of  that  quality  should  fuoceed  to  ^e 
place  of  sui^  excellent  persons.  We  found  about  thirty  young  lads  sit* 
ting  upon  benches,  and  their  master  at  the  head  of  them.  He  rose  up 
when  we  came  in,  and  received  us  very  civilly^  in  which,  to  give  them  their 
due,  that  nation  is  not  sparing. 

*'  The  janissary  desired  hm  to  go  on  widi  his  boys,  and  give  us  the 
liberty  of  seeing  his  method,  which  was  pretty,  and  much  beyond  ours  ; 
the  master  causing  the  whole  classis  to  read  at  a  time  witiiout  confusion, 
every  scholar  being  obliged  to  attention,  and  to  mind  what  his  next  neigh- 
bour reads.  They  had  each  of  them  the  same  authors  in  their  hand ;  and, 
for  example,  if  he  had  thirty  scholars,  he  chose  out  some  continued  dis- 
course, and  gave  them  but  thirty  words  to  read  ;  the  first  boy  reading  the 
first  word,  the  second  boy  the  second  word,  and  so  on. 

"  If  they  read  soundly  and  right,  he  gave  them  thirty  words  more  ;  but 
if  any  of  the  bo3r8  were  at  an  imperfect,  he  was  corrected  by  the  next,  who 
was  always  very  exact  in  observing  him,  and  he  his  ijeighbour,  till  the 
whole  number  of  words  were  read :  so  that  the  thirty  scholars  lying  all  of 
them  at  catch,  and  ready  to  take  advantage  of  any  defect  In  their  neigh- 
bour, stimulated  by  an  ambition  of  being  thought  the  best  scholar,  every 
one's  lesson  was  the  lesson  of  all,  and  happy  was  he  that  could  say  it  the 
best. 

"  To  obviate  any  of  the  scholars  in  eluding  that  word  by  preparing  him- 
self for  any  singly  word,  "their  places  were  changed,  and  he  who  at  one 
reading  was  in  the  first  place  was  removed  a  good  diMance  in  tiie  next. 


On  the  Utury  Lmmt.  59 

Tims  ooB  IcMOB  WM  oaough  for  a  whok  form,  how  numerous  soever ;  and, 
wkftt  wae  very  coiiyement  for  the  master,  tke  boys  were  not  comlmned 
to  come  to  him  one  alter  another^  for  every  one  was  a  master  to  his 
neighbour. — Aecamt  of  a  late  Voyage  ta  Athens,  engltshed  m  the  year 
1676.''— pp.  263,  264. 

.  How  difficult  it  is  to  be  original:  that  which  is^  has  been  before^ 
ftod  there  is  nothing  new  but  steam  under  the  sun ;  steam-boats 
and  opaches  we  mean. 

At  the  dose  of  our  abridgment  of  eome  parts  of  Mr.  Arundell's 
journey  into  Lesser  Asia,  and  of  our  observations  upon  the  manner 
m  which  it  has  been  published  in  these  volumes^  we  cannot  do  jus- 
tice  to  ourselves  without  repeating^  that  the  discoveries  he  has 
made  are  not  equal  to  what  the  pretensions  of  such  a  book  would 
lead  one  to  expect.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  detract  from  the  value 
and  the  interest  belonging  to  the  chief  merit  of  his  exertions — the 
discovery  of  Antioch  in  ^isidia ;  but  had  he  inserted  much  fewer 
of  his  conjectures,  and  more  rarely  drawn  upon  his  former  travels 
pablishod  years  ago,  one  slender  volume  might  have  really  con- 
tained all  that  is  valuable  or  new  in  these  goodly  octavos.  There 
ia  frequent  repetitions  too  of  the  exact  same  sentiments  respecting 
the  lacjoors  of  the  Apostles ;  together  with  a  considerable  quantity 
of  solemn  idling. 

Abt.  V. — RepcTt  of  the  Committee  of  the  House  of  Commons^  on  the 

Usury  Laws,    Printed  by  order,  1833. 

We  entertain  no  doubt,  that  if  the  Bill  for  abolishing  Imprisonment 
for  Debt  should  pass  into  a  law — although,  from  its  being  uncon- 
nected with  the  party  controversies  of  the  day,  it  may  excite  less 
attention  than  some  other  Parliamentary  proceedings— it  will 
really  exercise  a  more  beneficial  influence  upon  the  well-being  of 
the  great  body  of  the  people,  than  any  legislative  measure  sii^ee 
the  adoption  of  the  Reform  Bill.  Although  many  plausible  con- 
siderations may  be  urged  in  iavour  of  the  old  system,  it  is  in  fact 
sustained  by  the  mere  force  of  habit:  and  this  is  also  the  only  real 
support  of  the  Usury  Laws,  the  injurious  operation  of  which  is 
chiefly  felt  by  the  middling  and  poorer  classes  of  the  community. 
We  indulge  a  confident  hope,  that  a  temperate  bat  vigorous  and 
persevering  course  of  exertion  on  the  part  of  the  intelligent  firiends 
of  improvement  will  meet,  we  are  certain,  in  due  timev  with  the 
same  success  in  regard  to  this  abuse,  whidi  will  attend  Ibeir  eftbrts 
ia  the  removal  of  the  other.  We  are  no  friends  of  indiserimi&ate, 
wanton  and  violent  changes  in  the  laws :— we  are  free  ta  say,  on 
the  contrary,  that  we  consider  an  existing,  and  espeeidly  a  long- 
established  s^tem,  as  preferable,  eeeteris  paribus,  to  Hxij  one' thai 
can  be  substituted  for  it ;  but  when  a  law  is  notoriously  and  almost 
ocmfessedly  absurd,  cruel  and  uselest, — ^when  nothing  can  be  urged 
in  lavOHT  of  it  bat  its  anfiquity,-^we  shaB  always  be  ready  to  con- 


54  On  the  Usury  Laws, 

cur»  ad  fieur  as  Our  inflaence  may  extend,  in  removing  it  from  the 
statute  book.  Such  is  substantially  the  case  with  the  existing  laws 
prohibiting  usury,  or,  in  other  words,  prohibiting  the  owner  of 
capital,  invested  in  money,  from  making  the  same  use  of  it  which 
he  is.  allowed  to  do  when  invested  in  lands,  houses,  or  any 
other  article.  We  shall  now  proceed  to  lay  before  our  readers  a 
rapid  historical  sketch  of  the  usages  on  this  subject,  in  some  of  the 
most  distinguished  countries  of  ancient  and  modem  times,  and 
shall  then  briefly  examine  the  actual  operation  of  the  laws  now 
existing  in  this  country. 

I.  Amongst  ancient  nations,  the  Jews  are  the  first  to  claim  our 
attention.  Until  their  departure  from  the  land  of  Egypt,  under 
Moses,  they  had  never  acted  as  a  nation; — although  for  several 
hundred  years  they  had  preserved  themselves  as  an  unmixed  race  in 
their  state  of  bondage.  Long  before  this  time,  money  had  been 
used  as  an  agent  of  commerce ;  and  the  letting  of  money  to  hire 
was  a  perfectly  familiar  thing.  Of  course,  we  should  expect  to  find 
mention  made  of  this  practice  in  the  Mosaic  law.  Nor,  on  inspeo* 
tion,  are  we  disappointed.  The  practice  of  taking  interest  for  the 
loan  of  money,  or  any  other  commodity,  is  mentioned  in  the  books 
of  Exodus  and  Leviticus,  wherein  is  recorded  the  revelation  to 
Moses;  and  also  in  the  book  of  Deuteronomy,  in  which  are 
written  the  same  commandments,  as  Moses  communicated  to  the 
people.  The  passage  in  Exodus  (xxii.  25)  is  in  these  words : — 
'^  If  thou  lend  money  to  any  of  my  people  that  is  poor  by  thee,  thou 
shalt  not  be  to  him  as  an  usurer,  neither  shalt  thou  lay  upon  him 


usurv." 


The  passage  in  Leviticus  (xxv.  35-37)  is  as  follows  : — "  And  if 
thy  brother  be  waxen  poor,  and  Mien  in  decay  with  thee,  thou 
shalt  relieve  him,  though  he  may  be  a  stranger  or  sojourner ;  that 
he  may  live  with  thee.  Take  thou  no  usury  of  him,  or  increase : 
but  fear  thy  God;  that  thy  brother  may  live  with  thee.  Thou 
shalt  not  give  him  thy  money  upon  usury,  nor  lend  him  thy  victuals 
for  increase :  I  am  the  Lord  your  God." 

The  passage  in  Deuteronomy  (xxiii.  19-20)  is  in  these  words : — 
**Thou  shalt  not  lend  upon  usury  to  thy  brother;  usury  of  money, 
usury  of  victuals,  usury  of  any  thing  that  is  lent  upon  usury.  Unto 
a  stranger  thou  mayest  lend  upon  usury,  but  unto  thy  brother  thou 
shalt  not  lend  upon  usury,  that  the  Lord  thy  God  may  bless  thee." 

These  laws,  having  been  once  promulgated,  bound  the  Jews  to 
obedience  as  firmly  as  we  should  be  bound  by  a  commandment 
addressed  directly  to  us  by  the  Almighty.  It  is  apparent,  however^ 
that  they  did  not  condemn  the  practice  in  the  whole,  but  only  in 
part;  that  they  allowed  the  taking  of  interest,  but  forbade  the 
taking  it  by  one  Jew  of  another.  Accordingly,  that  singular  race 
never  hesitated  to  lend  or  hire  money  upon  interest  in  their  busi- 
ness transactions  with  foreign  nations. 
'We  wish  to  fix  the  attention  of  our  readers  particularly,  upon 


On  tie  Unary  Laws.  55 

the  distinction  made  by  this  law  between  interest  amongst  the  Jews> 
and  interest  between  them  and  other  nations ;  for  on  a  singular 
misinterpretation  of  the  Mosaic  rule  has  been  founded  the  most 
violent  and  long-continued  warfare^  by  religious  men,  against  all 
kinds  of  interest.  It  is  only  within  a  century  or  less  that  the 
question  has  not  been  argued  solely  as  a  question  of  religion. 

It  is  quite  dear,  that  the  intention  of  the  Mosaic  law  was,  not  to 
declare  the  practice  of  taking  interest  an  offence  against  the  prin- 
cifies  of  morality,  but  to  make  the  Jews  consider  each  other  as 
members  of  one  family — all  equally  entitled  to  the  use  and  enjoy- 
ment of  the  property  of  the  nation.  In  other  words,  the  law  was 
not  in  its  nature  moral,  but  political;  although,  when  it  was  once 
enacted,  its  violation  was  morally  wrong.  It  furnished  an  exempli- 
fication of  a  distinction  made  by  our  common  law  between  acts 
mala  in  se,  wrong  in  themselves,  or  morally  wrong,  and  mala  pro- 
hihitay  or  acts  wrong,  because  the  law  forbids  them.  Had  the 
taking  of  interest  been  declared  to  be  in  itself  an  immoral  act,  the 
prohibition  laid  upon  the  Jews  would  extend  to  all  mankind ;  but 
otherwise  it  cannot  be  considered  of  universal  obligation,  any  more 
than  is  the  Jewish  celebration  of  the  Passover.  Neglecting  this 
distinction,  and  disregarding  the  fact  that  the  taking  of  interest  is 
not  censured  except  between  Jew  and  Jew,  the  ancient  Christian 
fathers  considered  the  practice  as  an  abomination  in  the  sight  of 
God.  It  was  not  only  condemned  in  their  writings,  but  denounced 
as  sinful  by  many  a  solemn  council  of  the  church.  The  canon  law, 
or  law  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Hierarchy,  repeated  the  sentence  of 
condemnation,  and  went  so  far  as  to  declare  those  heretics  who  by 
argument  defended  it.  We  know  not  whether  any  person  was  ever 
led  to  the  stake  for  taking  interest  or  for  defending  the  practice ; 
but  we  think  such  a  thing  very  probable :  for  we  find  the  learned 
Doctor  Wilson  recommending  the  punishment  of  this  ofience  by 
death  in  the  following  terms : — ^^  For  my  part,  I  will  wish  some 
penail  lawe  of  death  to  be  made 'against  those  usurers,  as  well  as 
against  theeves  or  murtherers,  for  that  they  deserve  death  much 
vanse  than  such  men  doe ;  for  these  usurers  destroye  and  devour  up 
not  onlie  whole  families,  but  also  whole  countries,  and  bring  all 
foike  to  beggary  that  have  to  doe  with  them."  History  tells  us» 
ako,  that  tl^  inquisitors  were  very  industrious  in  enforcing  the 
canon« 

We  shall  again,  and  more  particularly,  examine  the  value  of  this 
doctrine  of  the  church.    At  present  we  confine  ourselves  to  history* 

From  Judea  let  us  pass  over  to  Greece.  It  is  a  glorious  monu-* 
ment  of  the  enlightened  and  commercial  character  of  that  country 
that  she  had  no  laws  on  the  subject ;  that  her  trade  in  money,  hke 
the  trade  in  every  thing  else,  was  Idft  wholly  without  legal  restric- 
tion. (Boeek.  Kcon.  of  ^hen^,)  The  law  declared  (Potter  s 
Attliq.  c.  26)  that  a  banker  should  not  demand  or  recover  a  higher 
rate  than  that  fixed  by  the  original  contract  between  himself  and 


56  On  the  Unary  Laws, 

the  bofwwer.  it  also  contaioed  the  following  reasonable  enact*' 
mentr^^^  Let  the  interest  on  money  be  YRoderarte/'  But  farther  ' 
than  llkis^  it  never  interfered  with  the  private  rights  of  borrowers 
and  lenders.  One  per  cent,  a  month  was  the  most  common  rate  of 
interest ;  but  on  some  speeies  of  loans  a  premium  was  chaiged 
equal  to  sixty  per  cent,  a  year.  Thus  money  lent  on-  a  voyage  to 
the  Buxine  Sea,  which  generally  reqnked  six  months  text  its  com- 
pletion, was  charged  with  an  interest  of  thirty  per  cent. 

While  such  was  the  liberal  policy  of  the  state,  there  existed,  at 
varions  times,  individuals  who»were  as  violently  hostile  to  the  taking 
of  interest  as-  were  the  Popish  councils  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
Amongst  these  may  be  found  Aristotle — a  man  whose  name  is 
illustrious  in  the  departments  of  natural  and  moral  science ;  but 
whose  notions  on  politics  are  entitled  to  small  respect.  His  repn- 
tation  is  dimmed  by  his  enmity  to  commerce ;  and  his  works  are, 
we  i^ust  say,  disgraced  by  the  following  passage : — ^'  Of  all  modes 
of  accumulation,  the  worst  and  most  unnatural  is  interest.  This 
is  the  utmost  corruption  of  artificial  degeneracy,  standing  in  the 
same  relation  to  commerce  that  commerce  does  to  economy.  By 
commerce  money  is  perverted  from  the  purpose  of  exchange  to  that 
of  gain ;  still,  however,  this  gain  is  occasioned  by  the  mutual  trans* 
fer  of  different  objects;  but  interest,  by  trancdTerring  merely  the 
same  object,  from  one  hand  to  another,  generates  money  from 
money ;  and  the  product  thus  generated  is  therefore  called  offspring, 
as  being  of  precisely  the  same  nature  with  that  from  which  it 
proceeds." 

The  worthy  philosopher's  indignation  at  the  idea  of  ofispring 
being  produced  by  money  is  not  a  little  amusing.  He  had  studied 
aH  the  secrets  of  the  natural  world,  animate  and  inanimate ;  he  had 
been  abundantly  ftimished,  by  the  generosity  of  Alexander,  with 
gold  and  silver  coins  to  an  amount  not  less  than  £160,000 ;  he  had 
discovered,  to  a  certainty,  that  these  coins,  though  shut  np  toge- 
ther in  his  pocket  and  chest,  never  mukiplied,  nor  gave  any  signs 
of  fraitfulness ;  he .  had,  moreover,  found  out,  that  gold  and  silver 
would  not  vegetate  a  whit  more  than  they  would  generate',  end, 
on<  the  strength  of  this  valuable  knowledge,  he  denounced  interest 
as  unnaftural  and  abominable. 

This  absurd  reaswing  of  the  Stagyrite  was  adopted  by  the  k>gi- 
cians  of  after  times  as  sound  and  just ;  and  by  a  singular  fate, 
altfaou^  in  Greece  it  never  gamed  any  influence,  yet  in  many  other 
eountries,  and.  in  agea  long  subsequent  to  his>  it  had  set  its  stamp 
npon  morals  and  legislation. 

Tb&  same  objection  would  lie  against  taking  rent  for  houses^  ot 
hire  for  any  other  inanimate  article  of  use ;  for  neither  do  houses 
b«gst  hooaes,  nor  did  we  ever  hear  of  any  other  inanimate  article  of 
property  vegetating  or  multiplying. 

In  tli«  earliest  ages  of  Rome,  there  were  no  laws  on  the  subject 
of  letting  money ;  but  the  practice  was  perfectly  well  known  there,. 


(Mike  UnHT^  Lm99.  57 

and  finmed  OM  of  the  mm/t  Inqaimt  mbgooU  oipopoln  cmnpklnt. 
In  tibe  celebrated  secession  of  the  lower  classes  of  the  peofde  to  the 
MoseSaoer,  wh^a  fer  several  days  there  was  thronghoat  the  street 
of  the  Eternal  City  the  most  pi^^il  epq>ectatioii  of  impending  civil 
war  somI  firat^nal  bloodshed^  the  seditioas  multttade  complained  of 
nettling  mere  strongly  than  the  pressure  of  the  exorbitant  interest 
demanded  of  them  by  the  wealthy  oitiaeas,  of  whom  they  weror 
obliged  to  borrow. 

In  these  early  periods  the  eommon  rate  of  interest  seems  to  have 
bem  twelve  per  cent,  ^-^-or  one  per  cent,  a  month.  This  is  to  be 
inferred  from  tike  feet,  that  six  per  cent,  per  aonum  is  spokaii  of  by 
the  cid  writers  as  half  interest,  and  three  per  cent,  as  one  fourUt 
interest. 

Until  the  299th  year  after  the  boil^g  of  Rome,  i.  e.  about  454 
yean  before  Christ,  there  was  no  such  thing,  in  fact,  as  law,  pro* 
pevly  so  called.  The  edicts  of  the  Kings,  aided  sometimes  by  m 
win  of  the  Senate,  and  sometimes'  by  that  of  the  people,  and  made 
known  by  placards  pasted  np  at  the  comers  of  streets,  hardly  de- 
serve the  name  of  laws. 

In  that  year  measures  were  eomm^ced  that  ultimately  resoited  in 
the  collection  of  the  code  of  laws,  which  under  the  name  of  the  Twelve 
Tables,  is  celebrated  in  Roman  history.  They  contained  the  elements 
of  Roman  jurisprudence;  were  collected  from  the  laws  of  Greece  and 
other  foreign  countries;  and,  being  written  on  taUea  ef  brass, 
became  the  statutes  of  the  Republic. 

One  of  these  laws,  according  to  Tacitus,  fixed  the  rate  of -inter'* 

est  at  one  per  cent,  per  annum.     Some  modem  crities  doubt  the 

genoineness  of  the  law  quoted  by  Taeitus>  and  affirm  that  the  first 

hlw,  by  which  the  rate  of  interest  wa»  fixed  at  Rome,  was  passed 

bf  the  Tribunes,  nearly  a  hundred  years  later.     The  qnestiom  is 

ahimportant ;  fer  either  way  the  law  has  not  much  to  boast  of.    If 

it  be  found  in  the  Twelve  Tables*,  so  is  aaodicr  law,  granting  the 

oreditors  of  an  insolvent' debtee  the  power  of  cutting  hn  body  into 

pieces;  and  anothar,  giving  parents  the  power  of  kiUmg,  or  selling 

into  slavery  fJieir  children;  and  another,  commanding  the  &ther  to 

mnrder  his  child  at  its  birth,  if  diseased  and  deformed*.    If  on  the 

other  hand,  the  first  law  fixing  the  rate  of  interest  was  of  a  more 

reoeflt  dote,  it  was  passed  by  the  influence  of  certain  puUie  officers, 

(the  IVilMmes,)  whose  greatest  delight  was,  at  all  times,  to  oppose 

the  rq^ar  operations  ef  government,  and  stir  np  aeditioii  among 

the  people;  and  it  was  enacted  after  a  hmg  eo^ct  between  the 

hq^her  and  lower  classes  of  the  citizens,  ocmducted  by  such  fiiry^ 

that  not  even  the  popularity  of  the  great  Camillus,  by  whom  the 

Ganls  had  been  Aiven  from  tne  Roman  territory,  atmed,  as  he  was, 

with  dtctatoxial  authority,  and  sustained  by  undoabtad  justice,  was 

sufficient  to  stem  this  headlong  impulse. 

fi         ' '  '  '  i^  '  " '       '  .  '    ' ' 

•  Fragments  of  the.  Twelve  Tables,  as  collected  by  Fathers  Catron 

and  Roiulle. 


58  Oft  the  Usury  Loidm*  - 

The  early  records  of  Rome  are  marked  with  numerous  oonteste 
of  this  description,  and  by  the  constant  proofs  of  the  pc^ular  odium 
belonging  to  money-lenders*  Cato,  in  his  Treatise  on  Agriculture, 
informs  us  that  the  taking  of  iU^^  interest  was  an  offence  punished 
with  more  severity  than  theft; — ^the  usurer  forfeiting  fourfold^ — ^the 
thief  only  double, — ^the  amount  of  property  taken.  Next  in  order  after 
the  Twdve  Tables,  at  an  interval  of  eighty-five  years,  came  the 
Licinian  Law,  which  temporarily  forbade  all  interest.  Ten  years 
later  the  rate  was  fixed  at  ^per  cent.,  and  afterwards  again  abolish- 
ed. The  rate  of  interest  was  always  highest  at  Rome,  as  every- 
where else,  when  the  laws  on  the  subject  were  most  severe ;  because 
of  the  increased  risk,  the  diminishea  competition,  and  the  aversicm 
of  honourable  men  to  engage  in  any  illegal  trade. 

Under  the  dictatorship  of  Sylla,  towai^is  the  close  of  the  Repub- 
lic, the  law  fixed  the  rate  of  interest  at  3  per  cent. ;  but  we  are 
informed  that  12  was  the  customary  and  common  rate.  Cicero,  at 
a  still  later  period,  speaks  in  his  letters  of  money  hired  in  Rome 
at  34  per  cent.,  and  in  the  provinces  at  48.  This  was  a  period  of 
universal  confusion,  turmoil,  and  insecurity.  At  the  death  of  An- 
tony and  Cleopatra,  interest  is  said  to  have  fallen  to  4  per  cent. 
At  that  time  the  genius  of  Octavius  Caesar  had  gained  the  last 
grand  triumph  over  opposition,  and  the  world  lay  prostrate  at  his 
feet ;  peace  being  universally  welcomed  as  a  relief,  though  it  placed 
upon  the  neck  of  subject  nations  the  yoke  of  a  tyrant.  Horace^  in 
his  Satires,  speaks  of  a  person  who  lent  money  at  60  per  cent^ 
In  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  whom  the  retributive  pen  of  Tacitus  has 
delineated  for  immortal  detestation,  Rome  was  again  convulsed 
with  an  usury  sedition.  Tlie  celebrated  Pandectsand  Code  of  Jus- 
tinian finally  settled  the  law  on  this  subject.  By  their  provisions, 
in  the  language  of  Gibbon,  ^^  persons  of  illustrious  rank  were  con- 
fined to  the  moderate  profit  of  four  per  cent. :  six  was  pronounced 
to  be  the  ordinary  and  legal  standard  of  interest :  eight  was  allowed 
for  the  convenience  of  manufacturers  and  merchants :  twelve  was 
granted  to  nautical  insurance,  which  the  wiser  ancients  had  not  at- 
tempted to  define ;  but,  except  in  this  perilous  adventure,  exorbi- 
tant mterest  was  severely  restrained." 

Rome,  in  her  turn,  Uke  all  preceding  empires,  declined  and  fell ; 
and  upon  the  various  hordes  of  northern  barbarians,  by  whom  she 
was  over-run,  her  civilization  and  laws  for  many  centuries  exerted 
but  a  feeble  influence.  We  will  not  attempt  to  trace  through  the 
darkness  of  those  centuries  the  course  of  custom  and  l^islation 
respecting  the  loan  of  money,  but  will  pass  immediately  to  our  own 
country. 

In  the  earliest  periods  of  which  we  have  authentic  records,  we 
find  that  the  doctrine  of  the  sinfulness  of  letting  money  to  hire,  had 
been  universally  spread  over  the  island  of  Great  Britain.  It  was 
the  prevaihng  sentiment^  that  interest,  or,  as  it  was  then  called. 


On  the  Usury  Laws.  fid 

tt9ary»  was  an  unholy  gain^  such  as  no  good  Christian  could  ooii-< 
scientiously  receive. 

Hence  the  common  law,  or^  in  other  words,  universal  consent, 
placed  the  practice  of  taking  interest  amongst  those  crimes  against 
public  morals  and  convenience,  the  catalogue  of  which  it  woidd  be 
difficult  to  complete.  Whether  it  was  prohibited  amongst  Jewish 
residents  only,  or  the  whole  body  of  Uie  people,  is  a  vexed  question 
with  lawyers.  It  is  however  certain  that  the  prohibition  existed, 
and  that  its  operation  was  such  that  the  practice  of  lending  money 
on  interest  was  confined  almost  wholly  to  the  Jews,  who  had  in 
England,  and  in  nearly  every  other  European  country,  become  the 
leaders  of  commerce,  and  the  chief  bankers.  Money  lenders  have 
always  been  unpopular,  even  under  the  most  favourable  circum* 
stances,  and  in  the  most  enlightened  and  civilized  ages.  Of  course, 
ther^re,  the  Jews  in  England  were  most  cordially  hated,  and, 
both  on  account  of  their  religion  and  their  money,  subject  to  fiery 
persecutions. 

The  laws  of  King  Alfred,  about  A.D.  900,  ordained  that  the 
po^onal  effects  of  money  lenders  should  be  forfeited  to  the  king, 
their  lands  and  inheritances  to  the  lord  under  whom  they  were  held, 
and  that  they  should  not  be  buried  in  consecrated  ground. 

By  the  laws  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  passed  about  the  year  of 
our  Lord  1050,  the  money  lender  forfeited  all  his  substance,  and 
was  outlawed.  Sir  Robert  Filmer,  in  a  treatise  published  in  1678, 
erroneously  states,  that,  with  the  exception  of  a  clause  in  the  Coun* 
dl  of  Calcluith,  about  the  year  787,  interest  had  not  been  prohi- 
bited in  England  until  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  A.D. 
1045;  and  that  this  monarch,  having  been  educated  in  France, 
and  been  ''seasoned  with  the  principles  of  the  kingdom,"  banished 
money  lenders  from  England.  Alfred's  laws  was  of  course  earher 
than  Edward's. 

Charlemagne,  king  of  France,  had  in  the  8th  century  prohibited 
the  taking  of  interest,  not  only  by  the  clergy,  according  to  the 
seventeenth  canon  of  the  Coun(»t>(^  Nice,  but  by  the  laity ;  which 
prohibition  was  thenceforward  supported  by  the  whole  ecclesiastical 
power. 

Notwithstanding  that  such  were  the  doctrines  of  the  continental 
ekcrgy^  and  although  the  laws  of  Edward  partook  of  their  spirit,  we 
find  the  English  clergy  less  hberaL  At  a  council  held  in  the  year 
1 126  at  Westminster,  and  at  another  twelve  years  later,  the  clergy 
akme  were,  by  the  decree  of  council,  prohibited  from  the  taking  of 
money ;  degradation  being  the  penalty  of  the  offence. 

In  the  reign  of  the  second  Henry,  from  A.D.  1154  to  1189,  the 
estfttea  of  money  lenders  on  their  death  were  forfeited^  and  their 
heirs  disinheritea. 

At  the  death  of  this  king,  and  on  the  accession  of  his  son  Richard 
I.,  A.D.  1189,  as  we  are  told  by  the  historian  of  England,*  "  the 

♦  Hume,  Chap.  x. 


m  Ot^  the  U$my  Lttm. 

pn^diocs  of  tfa«  age  had  madb  the  lending  ci  money  on  interest 
pass  by  the  invidious  name  of  usury;  yet  the  necessity  of  the  prac- 
tice had  still  c(»tinued  it^  and  the  greater  part  of  that  kind  of  deal- 
ing fell  every  where  into  the  hands  of  the  Jews^  who,  being  ahready 
infamous  on  account  of  their  religion,  and  no  honour  to  losd,  ana 
were  apt  to  exercke  a  profession^  odious  in  itself^  by  every  kind  of 
figor,  and  even  somiStimes  by  rapine  and  extortion.  The  industry 
and  frugality  of  this  people  had  put  them  in  possession  of  all  the 
leady  money,  which  the  idleness  and  profusion,  common  to  the 
Engush  with  other  Emropean  naticms,  enabled  them  to  lend  at  ei|- 
orbitant  and  unequal  interest/'  The  old  historians  of  England, 
who  wer»  mostly  monks,  had  censured  Henry  for  his  wise  and 
equitable  protection  of  the  Jews  :  of  course,  they  exult  in  the  cro- 
elties  inflicted  upon  them  by  Richard.  ''The  king  had  issued  an 
ediet,.  forbidding  their  appearance  at  his  coronation ;  but  some  of 
them  bringing  large  presents  from  their  nation,  presumed,  in  confi- 
dence of  tjiat  merit,  to  approach  the  hall  in  which  he  dined.**  Being 
discovared  and  driven-  wiui  insult  from  the  palace,  they  fled.  The 
peojde  pursued  them,  and  a  rumour  being  circulated  that  the  king 
had  given  orders  that  all  the  Jews  should  be  slain,  such  of  them  as 
appeared  in  public  were  slaughtered,  while  the  houses  of  those  who 
remained  at  home  were  broken  open,  plundered,  and  their  inmates 
murdered,  or  else  they  were  set  on  fire  and  made  the  funeral  piles 
of  men  and  women  and  children,  without  any  emotion,  on  the  part 
of  the  mob,  of  remorse  or  mercy. 

*  ''  The  disorder  was  not  confined  to  London.  Other  cities  fol- 
Ibwed  the  bloody  example.  In  York,  five  hundred  Jews,  who  had 
retired  for  safety  to  the  castle,  and  found  themselves  unable  to 
defend  the  place,  murdered  their  own  wives  and  children,  threw  the 
dead  bodies  over  the  waUs  upon  the  populace,  and  then,  setting  fire 
to  the  houses,  perished  in  the  flames. 

**  The  neighbouring  gentry,  who  were  all  indebted  to  the  Jews, 
ran  to  the  cathedral,  where  their  bonds  were  kept,  and  made  a 
solemn  bonfire  of  the  papers  before  the  altar.  A  contemporary 
outiior,  after  rdating  these  horrible  events,  blesses  the  Almighty  for 
thus  delivering  over  this  impious  race  to  destruction. '' 

Under  this  same  king  Richard,  a  law  was  enacted,  which  re- 
quired that  every  contract  with  a  Jew  should  be  made  in  writing, 
one  copy  of  which  was  to  remain  with  the  Jew,  one  with  a  magis- 
tMte,  and  a  third  with  some  good  citizen.  At  this  time  nKMtiey 
was  sometimes  procured  at  10  per  cent.,  but  generally  the  rate  was 
much  higher.  The  common  rate  in  Italy  and  other  countries  about 
this  time  was  20  per  cent.  The  Countess  of  Flanders,  for  the 
money  raised  to  pay  her  husband's  ransom,  was  obliged  to  pay 
enormous  interest.  The  lowest  rate  was  more  than  20  per  cent.^ 
and  some  of  her  creditors  exacted  30.^^ Robertson* s  Charles  V,, 
Vol.  3,  Note  XXX.)  James  1st  of  Arragon  (1242^  fixed  the  rate 
inthat  kingdom  at  18  per  cent,<-**(i6.) 


On  the  Usury  Law».  ^l 

A  curious  document  is  piesented  in  M^oa^s  Forwrndate  AngU- 
eanum,  bearing  date  the  tenth  and  last  year  of  the  reign  of  Riehard, 
in  the  nature  of  a  mortgage  of  land  for  the  security  of  a  loan  at  1^ 
per  cent,  interest.  Its  urords  are^  ''  for  which  I^  Richard  of  Sand- 
ford^  will  pay  to  him^  the  said  Boiedict  Pemaz^  interest  at  the  ratte 
of  10  marlcs  per  annum  for  the  aforesaid  hundred  marks/' 

Under  the  succeeding  reigns  of  John  and  Henry  III.,  wfaiefa 
ext^ided  to  A.D.  1272,  althourii  the  Jews  were  violently  persecttted, 
they  still  remained  in  England,  and  still  acted  as  money  lenders. 
The  rate  of  interest  rose  to' an  enormous  height  both  in  F^Mioe  and 
England.  Instances  occnr  in  which  50  per  cent,  was  paid ;  and 
there  is  an  edict  of  Philip  Augustus,  the  French  king,  limiting 
interest  to  48  per  cent. 

The  Jews,  during  this  period,  were  subject  to  lihe  most  ruinoDS 
and  despotic  extortion  by  government ;  to  ensure  themselves  against 
wluch,  they  were,  of  course,  obliged  to  raise  their  rate  of  int^est 
atin  higher.  King  John,  whose  graming  disposition  and  prodigal 
habits  are  so  finely  delineated  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Ivanhoe,  on  one 
occasion  demandea  of  a  single  Jew  in  Bristol  the  sum  of  10,000 
marks^  which  was  more  than  equal  to  a  sixth  part  of  the  revenue  of 
all  England,  When  the  Jew  refosed  to  pay  that  sum,  John  ordered 
one  of  his  teeth  to  be  drawn  daily,  until  he  should  comply.  Hie 
Jew  endured  the  tearing  out  of  seven,  and  then  paid  the  unjust 
demand.  Henry  was  equaUy  unjust  and  unmerciful,  adopting  the 
most  outrageous  measures  to  fill  his  purse  from  the  pockets  of  the 
Jews,  and,  when  his  ingenuity  fiuled,  he  turned  them  over  to  his 
brother,  the  Earl  of  Cornwall;  in  the  language  of  an  ancient 
author,  ^'  that  those  whom  one  brother  had  flayed,  the  other  might 
embowel." 

In  the  year  1311,  Philip  IV.  of  France  fixed  the  rate  of  interest, 
allowed  to  be  taken  in  the  fiurs  of  Champagne,  at  20  per  cent. — 
{Ordon.  I.,  484.)    In  Arragon  it  was  somewhat  lower. 

In  this  same  year  (1311)  a  council,  held  at  Vienna,  renewed  the 
anathemas  of  the  Church  upon  the  practice  of  taking  interest,  and 
passed  that  fiirious  canon  to  which  we  have  before  alluded,  that,  ^  if 
any  shall  obstinately  persist  in  the  error  of  presuming  to  affirm  that 
the  taking  of  interefit  is  not  sin,  we  decree  that  he  shall  be  punished 
as  a  heretic." 

The  taking  of  interest  was  an  indictable  ofience  under  the  reigns 
of  the  three  Edwards,  who  succeeded  Henry,  and  who  held  the 
crown  of  England  from  the  year  1272  to  the  year  1377.  But  it 
seems  that  the  common  law  courts  were  not  then  considered  the 
proper  tribunals  in  which  to  punish  this  offence.  The  ecclesiasticfd 
courts,  claiming  jurisdiction  of  the  crime  as  an  offence  against  the 
Churchy  were  deemed  the  proper  judges.  In  compliance  wi^  the 
urgeiLt  request  of  the  clergy,  Eldward  III.  sanctioned  a  statute 
making  the  practice  penal.  But  he  had  in  a  ntfanner  been  fereed 
joato  this  meaanrei  and  speedily  pcociived  its  repeal.    This  »talute 


\ 


62  On  the  Usury  Laws. 

betrays  a  very  singular  ignorance  of  the  real  character  and  influence 
of  the  practice  of  loaning  upon  interest;  for  it  declares  it  to  be  *'  the 
bane  of  commerce.^* 

The  burden  of  the  law  did  not  now,  however,  fall  most  heavily 
upon  the  Jews.  They  had  been  driven  from  England  by  the 
tyranny  of  Edward  I.  in  the  early  part  of  his  reign  ;  15,000  of 
them  being  at  one  time  robbed  of  their  whole  property,  and  banished. 
After  that  period,  the  lending  of  money  passed  into  other  hands, 
and  the  rate  of  interest  rose  in  consequence. 

During  this  period,  about  the  year  1360,  King  John  of  France, 
by  his  letters  patent,  permitted  the  Jews  within  his  realm  to  take 
at  least  86  per  cent,  per  annum  *on  loans.  But,  as  a  specimen  of 
royal  honesty  at  that  time,  we  may  mention  that  in  the  following 
year  he  debased  the  coin,  and  obliged  the  lenders  to  receive  it  as  of 
full  value. 

From  a  consideration  of  these  facts,  we  may  see  the  justice  of  a 
remark  made  by  the  celebrated  Bentham,  in  his  '^Defence  of 
Usury :" — "  Christians  were  too  intent  upon  plaguing  Jews  to 
listen  to  the  suegestions  of  doing  as  Jews  did,  even  though  money 
were  to  be  got  by  it.  Indeed,  the  easier  method,  and  a  method 
pretty  much  in  vogue,  was,  to  let  the  Jews  get  the  money  any  how 
they  could,  and  then  squeeze  it  out  of  them  as  it  was  wanted." 

Early  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.,  which  began  in  the  year  1485, 
a  very  severe  statute  was  enacted,  for  the  purpose  of  suppressing 
the  taking  of  interest.  The  penalty  of  the  offence  was  fixed  ut  one 
hundred  pounds,  besides  which  the  Church  was  empowered  to  deal 
according  to  its  will  with  the  soul  of  the  money  lender.  The  same 
statute  subjects  him  to  a  forfeiture  of  the  principal,  and  disables  the 
brokers  from  further  business  in  their  profession,  besides  subjecting 
them  to  a  penalty  of  £20,  and  a  half  year's  imprisonment. 

By  a  statute  passed  eight  years  subsequently,  the  above  penalties 
are  somewhat  mitigated.  Certain  rates  of  interest  had  been  by  law 
estabUshed  in  other  European  countries.  As  lately  as  1490^  the 
rate  in  Placentia,  an  Italian  city  of  considerable  commerce,  was  40 
per  cent.  Charles  V.,  of  Spain  and  Germany,  had  fixed  the  rate 
in  the  Low  Countries  at  12  per  cent.  Lewis,  Count  of  Provence, 
had,  in  1406,  allowed  the  merchants  of  Marseilles  to  lend  and 
borrow  at  10  per  cent. 

Thus  far  we  have  seen  that  the  laws  of  England  regarded  all 
interest  on  loans  as  criminal.  In  the  succeeding  reign  we  shall 
find  a  very  decided  change  in  the  laws. 

In  the  37th  year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  1546,  a  statute 
was  enacted  declaring  all  rates  of  interest  above  10  per  cent,  to  be 
usurious  and  unlawfiil ;  thus  t£u;itly,  though  not  declaratively,  pro^ 
nouncing  10  per  cent,  and  all  inferior  rates  lawfiil.  From  this  time 
forward,  the  laws  have,  with  one  brief  exception,  made  a  distinction 
between  interest  and  usury. 

Although  this  legal  revolution  was  a  great  improvement^  yet  w« 


Oil  the  Usury  Lmos.  63 

cannot  but  wonder  that  it  did  not  extend  80  far,  as  to  leav^  money 
contracts  perfectly  unfettered  by  law.  Our  surprise  will  vanish, 
however,  on  looking  over  the  records  of  Parliament  during  the  reign 
of  Henry,  and  there  finding,  that  not  only  was  a  price  fixed  upon 
the  use  of  money,  but  also  upon  poultry,  cheese,  butter,  beef,  pork, 
mutton,  veal,  and  the  labour  of  artisans.  Beef  and  pork  were  ordered 
to  be  sold  at  a  half-penny  a  pound,  while  mutton  and  veal  were 
fixed  at  a  half-farthing  hi^er.  These  wise  statutes  inform  us  that 
poor  people  alone  ate  the  four  kinds  of  meat  last  mentioned. 

Under  Queen  Elizabeth,  a  more  liberal  spirit  prevailed,  and  the 
commercial  wants  of  her  subjects  were  treated  with  greater  respect. 
The  statute  of  Henry  VHL,  legalizing  interest  at  10  per  cent., 
which  had  been  abolished  by  Edward  VI.,  was  revived ;  and  since 
that  period,  all  that  has  been  attempted  by  the  laws  has  been  the 
restraint  of  interest  within  certain  limits,  which  limits  have  been 
gradually  contracted  by  successive  statutes  firom  10  per  cent,  to  8, 
in  the  reign  of  James  I. ;  to  6  per  cent,  by  the  Rump  Parliament, 
in  1654,  whose  laws  thereon  was  confirmed  in  the  reign  of  Charles 
II. ;  and  finally  to  5  per  cent,  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  whose 
statute  remains  in  force  to  this  day.  In  the  quaint  language  of  a 
writer  of  the  last  century,  (speaking  of  the  statute  of  Henry  VIII.) 
"  the  good  folks,  in  the  5th  and  6th  of  King  Edward  VI.,  repealed 
this  law;  but  the  wiser  folks  of  the  13th  year  of  Queen  Elizabeth 
repealed  that  law." — {And.  Hist,  of  Commercey  vol.  I.  375.) 

Although  the  rate  of  interest  in  England  during  the  days  of  Eli- 
zabeth was  10  per  cent.,  it  was  then  as  low  as  6^  per  cent,  in 
France,  in  consequence,  unquestionably,  of  the  superiority  of  the 
latter  country  over  England  in  point  of  money  capital ;  by  the 
abundance  of  which,  commercial  prosperity  may  in  general  be 
measured.  When  the  rate  in  England  had  been  reduced  to  6  per 
cent.,  the  following  were  the  rates  in  other  countries,  according  to 
an  author  (Sir  Josiah  Child)  who  wrote  in  1688: — In  Scotland 
and  Ireland  10  and  12  per  cent.;  in  France  7;  in  Italy  3;  in 
Turkey  20;  in  Spain  10  and  12. 

The  statute  of  Henry  VIII.,  with  the  exception  of  the  rate  of 
interest  therein  limited,  having  remained,  to  the  present  time,  the 
law  of  England,  we  will  quote  its  generd  prohibition  : — ^'  No  per- 
son, by  way  of  corrupt  bargain,  loan,  exchange,  cherisance,  shifl, 
interest  of  any  wares,  merchandises,  or  other  thing  whatsoever, 
shall  take,  in  lucre  or  gains,  or  for  the  forbearing,  or  giving  day  of 
payment,  for  a  year,  above  the  rate  of  10  pounds  per  centum  per 
'annum." 

When  this  statute  was  revived  by  the  statute  of  Elizabeth,  a  fur- 
ther clause  was  inserted  to  this  effect,  "  that  in  the  interpretation  of 
the  law  it  was  to  be  most  largely  and  strongly  construed  fi)r  the 
repressing  of  usury,  and  against  all  persons  that  should  offend 
against  the  true  meaning  of  that  statute,  by  any  way  or  device, 
directly  or  indirectly." 


64  On  the  Uwry  liam$, 

la  this  carefol  Iwpuige  njay  be  detected  en  acknowledgment  6f 
the  fact^  that  money  lenders  had  resorted  to  a  great  variety  of  exjpe- 
dients  by  which  to  evade  the  operation  of  law.  It  had  been  ever 
ao.  The  lenders  and  brokers  of  old  times  in  England  were  aa 
shrewd  and  crafty,  and  as  well  acquainted  with  the  slippery  tricks 
of  evaaioni  as  any  of  their  descendants  of  our  times.  Our  readers 
will  not  infer,  from  this  remark,  that  we  are  very  violent  enemies 
of  such  infractions  c^  what  we  consider  unjust  laws.  On  the  con- 
trary, we  are  ready  to  say,  in  the  language  of  Bentham,  '^  if  this 
page  suggest  an  expedient,  and  that  a  safe  and  commodious  one, 
fer  evading  the  la^ea  against  usury,  it  will  not  lie  very  heavy  on 
our  consciences m^^ 

The  inference  to  be  drawn  from  the  language  of  the  statute  is 
just.  There  had  been  long  kept  up  '^a  running  fight"  between 
the  usurers  and  the  Parliament;  and  ParUament  found,  at  last, 
that  new  modes  c&  evasion  sprung  up  more  rapidly  than  they  could 
legislate  against  old  ones ;  and,  in  despair  of  suppressing  usury  by 
a  specification  of  all  its  possible  forms,  they  took  refuge  in  the 
general  prohibition  of  exorbitant  interest,  ^^  either  directly  or 
indirectly t  or  by  any  shift,  or  by  any  deceitful  way  or  means,*^ 

We  may  perluips,  with  advantage,  point  out  some  of  the  modes 
resorted  to  by  lenders  in  £ngland  for  the  purpose  of  evading  the 
law. 

But  first  for  the  benefit  of  the  unlearned,  we  will  mention  that 
th&re  are  certain  species  of  loan  for  which  the  laws  allow  an  inde- 
finit  erate  of  interest  to  be  charged. 

Among  these  may  be  named  loans  on  Bottomry  and  Respoti' 
dentia,  or  maritime  loans^ — where  the  money  is  borrowed  with  re- 
ference to  a  particular  voyage,  and  is  to  be  refiinded  only  if  the  voy« 
age  be  performed.  The  ship  itself,  or  the  cargo,  is  pledged  for  the 
principal  and  interest,  neither  of  which  is  to  be  paid  if  the  vessel  or 
cargo,  as  the  case  may  be,  be  lost  in  the  voyage  contemplated  in 
the  loan.  In  these  cases  interest  is  not  unfrequently  charged  as 
high  as  30  or  50  per  cent. 

One  evasive  expedient  of  usurers  was  loaning  on  ficticious  risks, 
so  as  to  give  to  the  transaction  the  appearance  of  bottomry,  or  some 
other  le^  contract;  as  for  example,  where  the  contingency  in  the 
bond  was,  that  one,  out  of  certain  twenty  ships  from  Newcafitle  to 
London,  arrived  in  safety. 

Another  expedient,  frequently  used,  was  a  pretended  sale  of 
goods  :  the  purchase  paying  an  exorbitant  price  for  them,  and 
then  re-selling  them'  to  the  lender  at  a  less  price,  so  as  to  give  him 
the  difl^ence  as  interest. 

In  this  mode  of  lending,  the  borrower  drew  a  ficticious  bill  of 
exchange  on  some  person  supposed  to  be  abroad ;  the  bill  was  nev^ 
negotiated,  but  passed  through  the  process  of  protesting,  and  was 
thus  made  to  charge  the  borrower  with  exchange,  re-exchange  and 
other  incidentals,  over  and  above  legal  interest 


Oil  the  Usury  Laws.  65 

A  fourth  plan  was  the  lending  of  stock  instead  of  money,  on  in- 
terest^ at  a  nominal  value  higher  than  its  market  price. 

The  advance  of  money  on  a  pretended  partnership,  and  the  re- 
ceipt of  interest  as  the  profits  of  the  concern,  was  still  another 
device. 

The  same  ohject  was  sometimes  efiected  by  the  means  of  a  lease 
on  an  enormous  rent ; — or  by  receiving  a  lease  instead  of  interest ; 
—or  by  the  purchase  of  annuities  at  low  prices  of  the  annuitants 
and  so  converting  the  dividends  into  interest;  and  by  a  thousand 
other  methods,  all  of  which,  by  their  trouble  and  risk,  rendered 
it  necessary  for  the  lender  to  raise  still  higher  his  rate,  in  order  to 
insure  himself;  and  all  of  which  may  be  set  down  as  the  inevitable 
mischief  of  usury  laws. 

The  ordinary  rate  of  interest  is  now  less  than  five  per  cent.,  in 
consequence  of  the  excess  of  monied  capital  above  the  calls  for  pro- 
fitable investment.  To  this' fact  as  a  cause,  we  may  ascribe  the 
circumstances  that  many  wealthy  individuals  have  purchased  foreign 
stock  which  yields  a  much  higher  interest*. 

We  have  now  completed  our  historical  survey  of  the  subject  of 
usury. 

*  Our  readers  have  perceived  that,  almost  ever  since  the  introduc- 
tion of  money,  and  in  almost  every  promioent  nation,  there  have 
existed  usury  laws  :  that  wherever  and  whenever  these  laws  have 
been  the  most  severe,  then  and  there  have  usurious  practices  most 
abounded  and  been  most  abused ;  that  originally  these  laws  have 
been  based  on  the  principle  that  all  rates  of  interest  are  wrong; 
that,  as  men  have  become  more  enlightened  and  more  commercial, 
that  principle  has  been  abandoned  as  absurd;  that  in  later  times 
the  laws  against  usury  have  assumed  as  their  basis,  what  is  not 
true,  that  the  law  can  regulate  the  value  of  the  use  of  money,  and  of 
course  that  the  fixing  of  a  lawful  legal  rate  of  interest  may  be  made 
the  cause  of  national  wealth  and  prosperity. 

From  the  facts  thus  laid  open,  the  most  eminent  political  econo- 
mists of  the  last  half  century  have  deduced  the  principle,  that 
legislation  should  no  more  interfere  with  money  contracts  than 
with  contracts  of  any  other  description,  but  that  the  appearance  of 
fraud  and  injustice  therein  should,  as  in  all  other  cases,  be  within 
the  reach  of  legal  redress. 

It  is  matter  of  surprise  that  Legislatures  have  not  made  and 
acted  upon  the  same  discovery.     Hoping  to  help  onward  in  some 

*  In  France,  interest  was  reduced  in  1720  from  5  to  2  per  cent.:  in 
1724  it  was  raised  to  3^  per  cent. ;  and  in  1725  to  5  per  cent. :  in  1756, 
it  was  reduced  to  4  per  cent. ;  and  afterwards  raised  again  to  5. .  Smithes 
Wealth  of  Nations.  B.  L  c.  9. 

In  Bengal,  money  is  frequently  lent  to  the  fanners  at  40,  50,  and 
60  per  cent.;  the  next  crop  oeing  mortgaged  for  the  payment.  Twelve 
per  cent,  is  said  to  be  the  common  rate  in  China. 

VOL.  III.   (1834.)    NO.  I.  F 


Q6  On  the  Usury  Laws* 

soptall  degree  that  progress  of  public  seatiment  which  ultimately 
compels  all  legislatures  into  obedience,  we  shall  now  proceed  to 
examine  some  of  the  various  arguments  by  which  the  proposition, 
that  the  law  ought  not  to  interfere  with  the  rate  of  interest  on 
money  lent,  is  supported. 

The  first  question  to  be  answered  is,  ^  Whether  the  law  ought 
to  permit  the  giving  or  receiving  of  interest  at  any  rate  or  in  any 
case? 

This  question  may  be  said  to  depend  on  the  morality  or  immo- 
rality of  taking  interest.  No  person  is  so  ignorant  of  the  principles 
of  political  economy  as  to  doubt,  that  lending  and  borrowing  on 
interest  are  of  great  practical  convenience  and  utility.  The  dispute 
must  tum^  then,  upon  the  question  of  morals.  For  if  borrowing 
and  lending  on  interest  be  immoral^  no  matter  what  may  be  the 
convenience  or  pecuniary  benefit  of  these  reciprocal  sins^  they 
should,  of  course,  be  strictly  forbidden. 

We  pray  our  readers  to  bear  constantly  in  mind  the  fact,  that  if 
either  borrowing  or  lending  on  interest  be  morally  wrong,  both  are 
wrong,  and  the  one  is  as  great  a  sin  as  the  other.  Such  is  the  &ct 
with  relation  to  any  act  which  requires  the  concurrence  of  several 
individuals.  Thus  the  victim^  who  casts  himself  to  be  crushed 
beneath  the  ponderous  wheels  of  the  car  of  Juggernaut,  is  not  less 
guilty  of  idolatry,  than  is  the  priest  who  guides  the  course  of  the 
murderous  vehicle.  The  recollection  of  this  principle  may  mate- 
rially aid  us  in  deciding  the  question  at  issue. 

It  mayj  at  first  sight,  seem  needless  to  argue  this  question  of 
morals.  But  when  it  is  recollected  that  far  better,  as  well  as  far 
more  numerous  reasons  can  be  adduced  to  prove  that  all  interest  is 
immoral,  than  to  prove  that  the  law  ought  to  interfere  with  the 
rate ;  that  until  recently,  the  subject  of  usury,  as  before  remarked^ 
has  been  considered  and  debated  as  one  of  mere  morals, — and  that 
important  conclusions  for  future  application  will  be  drawn  from  the 
manner  in  which  this  question  may  now  be  decided, — its  discussion 
will  not  be  considered  unnecessary. 

Let  us  inquire,  then,  whether  it  be  morally  wrong  to  pay  or  to 
receive  interest. 

The  question,  as  we  have  already  hinted,  has  been  argued  in  the 
negative  by  Aristotle,  and  other  Greek  as  well  as  Latin  authors : — 
by  the  early  Christian  Fathers,  amongst  whom  appear  the  names 
of  Cyprian,  Lactantius,  Basil,  CJirysostom,  Gregory,  Ambrose, 
Jerome,  and  Augustin ;  by  the  decrees  of  Catholic  councils ;  by 
the  bulls  of  popes ;  bv  the  statutes  of  most  European  nations  of 
the  middle  ages,  and  by  '  a  cloud  of  witnesses,'  who,  as  writers  on 
morals  and  politics,  have  lifted  up  their  vcHces  against  the  abomi* 
nahle  practice  of  letting  money  to  hire. 

To  the  fallacious  reasoning  of  the  heathen  philosopher,  we  have 
already  replied.  He  was  the  declared  enemy  of  commerce,  and  of 
course  would  denounce  a  practice  which  has  ever  been  the  main- 


On  ike  Usury  Lmu.  §7 

9pkmg  of  c0|iAntr6iaI  proiperity.  The  atgument  by  whieh  he  «n- 
oeaTouis  Iq  show  that  the  taking  of  int^est  Lb  wrong,  seems  to  be 
based  on  the  name  given  to  it  by  hifi  countrymen.  They  cisdled 
it '  iwwr/ — offspringr-^^nd  the  philosopher  denounces  this  unna- 
toial  generaticH)  of  money  from  money>  as  zealously  as  though  he 
supposed  the>  Greeks  really  imagined  that  interest  was  begotten  of 
principal.  It  is  unnecessary  to  spend  time  in  replying  to  such 
arguments.  The  strange  fact  that  this  reasoning  has,  in  modem 
days,  found  disciples,  must  be  ascribed  to  that  principle  of  human 
weakness,  which  induces  us,  in  our  admiration  di  the  splendour  of 
genius,  to  receive  with  respect  even  its  errors. 

Christian  hostiUtj  to  the  practice  of  lending  and  borrowing  on 
interest,  originated  m  a  misinterpretation  of  the  Mosaic  law.  The 
passages  on  which  the  error  was  founded,  have  been  (juoted  already 
at  length.  In  the  opinion  of  the  Fathers,  they  contam  an  unquali- 
fied declaration  that  all  interest  is  sinful^  and  that  a  prohibition  of  that 
SHiis  as  obligatory  iqpon  us  as  it  was  upon  the  Jews ;  but  itis  diffi-» 
cult  to  eonodh^e  bow  they  could  have  deduced  such  an  opinion  from 
9ach  a  text.  Had  Moses  intended  to  declare  interest  sinful,  he 
would  not  have  allowed  it  to  be  taken  of  a  stranger,  or  to  be  paid 
to  a  stranger.  Unless  he  meant  to  declare  it  sinful  in  itself,  his 
eominand  to  the  Jews  has  no  application  to  any  other  people,  but 
should  be  regarded  as  an  exception  from  a  gencaral  rule,  applicable 
io  the  Israelites  only,  to  whose  character  as  a  people  we  must  look 
for  the  intention  of  the  law.  Unless  we  mean  to  assume  the  burden 
of  the  whole  Mosaic  dispensation,  we  must  beware  of  taking  any 
part  thereof,  except  it  be  clearly  intended  for  universal  application. 

A  celebrated  writer,  in  defending  this  doctrine  of  the  Councils, 
finding  it  rather  difficult  to  deal  wiUx  the  objection  drawn  from  the 
discrimination  which  Moses  makes  between  usury  amongst  the 
Jews,  and  usury  between  JeWs  and  strangers,  very  ingeniously 
remarks  that  the  Israelites  were  commanded  to  exterminate  the 
Gentile  nations  of  Judea,  and  that  this  permission  to  diarge  them 
usury  was  a  part  of  the  apparatus  of  destruction. 

UnfiMl^onfl^y  for  the  soundness  of  this  argument,  he  does  not 
explain  in  what  manner  the  Gentiles  were  to  suffer  bv  lending  on 
i  usury,  even  if  they  would  be  injured  by  borrowing.     The  intention 

of  the  law  must  have  flEuled,  in  consequence  of  its  not  prohibiting 
the  Jews  firom  paying  usury  to  their  neighbours, — ^who  were  thus 
e(|iuaUy  fiumished  with  the  engine  of  destruction. 

The  argument  is  rendered  not  merelv  null«  but  even  ridiculous^ 
by  the  light  of  modern  intelligenoe.  We  now  know  that  the  prac- 
tice in  question,  so  far  firom  being  calculated  to  exterminate  or 
injure  either  borrowers  or  lenders,  is  the  very  soul  of  commercial 
prosperity.  We  now  feel  that  a  conscience  so  tender  as  to  con* 
aenm  it,  would,  on  principle,  condemn  every  other  business  transac- 
tion, and  drive  mankind  back  again  to  the  caves  for  a  habitation^ 

and  for  sustenance  to  their  [Mimitive  diet  on  acorns. 

f2 


€6  Obi  the  Usury  Laws. 

The  Mosaic  law,  therefore,  furnishes  no  proof  that  it  is  moraDy 
wrong  to  let  or  hire  money  upon  interest.*  But  the  enemies  of  this 
practice  have  drawn  arguments  fix)m  natural  as  well  as  revealed 
i«Iigion.  We  will  now  take  some  notice  of  the  former,  as  they  are 
summed  up  in  the  work  of  Monsieur  Domat,  a  French  civilian  of 
the  seventeenth  century. 

After  declaring  the  taking  of  interest  to  be  a  sin  most  strongly 
condemned  in  the  Scriptures^  he  thus  proceeds : — *  If  therefore  we 
would  discover  what  is  the  character  of  the  iniquity  which  renders 
interest  so  criminal  before  God,  and  which  ought  to  make  it  so  to 
us,  both  in  our  hearts  and  minds,  we  have  only  to  consider  what 
die  nature  of  this  contract  of  loan  is,  in  order  to  judge  whether  it 
be  just  to  take  interest  for  it  or  not ;  and  we  shall  easily  perceive, 
by  the  natural  principles  of  the  use  which  God  has  given  to  this 
contract  in  the  society  of  men,  that  taking  interest  is  a  crime 
which  violates  these  principles,  and  undermmes  the  very  founda- 
tions of  the  order  of  society.' 

He  then  goes  on  to  declare,  as  a  general  fundamental  principle, 
that  the  very  essence  of  a  loan  of  any  thing  to  be  returned  in  kind, 
(as  money,)  is,  that  it  be  gratuitous  and  charitable :  thus  furnish- 
ing a  singular  examjde  of  what  logicians  would  call  a  petitio  prin- 
ciplt, — a  taking  for  granted  the  very  substance  of  the  proposition 
in  controversy. 

If  loans  were  indeed  gratuitous,  the  onlv  inference  that  could  be 
drawn  from  this  fact  would  seem  to  be,  that  letting  money  to  hire 
is  not  a  loan ;  but  if  letting  money  to  hire  be  a  loan,  then  loans  are 
not  in  their  nature  gratuitous.  Either  way,  we  see  that  the  civi- 
lian's argument  is  unsatisfiictory. 

Having  presented  this  elementary  principle  as  the  basis  of  his 
reasoning,  he  next  arrays  a  company  of  arguments  to  prove  the 
taking  of  interest  to  be  a  violation  of  the  order  of  society. 

The  first  is,  that  money  lent,  returnable  in  kind,  is  not  exposed 
to  insensible  diminution,  or  wear  and  tear,  and  that,  therefore, 
nothing  should  be  paid  for  the  use  of  it.  Had  he  said  that  nothing 
should  be  paid  for  wear  and  tear,  the  proposition  would  have  been 
true.  But  it  no  more  proves  that  the  borrower  ought  not  to  pay 
for  the  use  of  money,  than  the  fetct,  that  the  lessee  of  a  hrm  cannot 
use  that  fiEum  like  negotiable  paper,  because  he  ought  to  pay  no  rent. 

The  second  argument  against  interest  is,  that  if  the  borrower  by 
accident  lose  the  use  of  the  money,  he  is  still  bound  to  pay  the  in- 
terest, as  though  he  had  used  it. 

The  same  objection  would  lie  against  pa3^g  house  rent,  in  case 
the  house  be  destroyed  by  fire,  so  that  the  use  of  it  is  lost.  But 
the  law  very  properly  requires  the  borrower  in  the  one  case,  and 
the  tenant  in  the  other,  to  provide  against  loss. 

The  third  argument  is,  that  if  the  borrower  accidentally  lose  die 
principal,  the  lender  nevertheless  requires  him  to  repay  the  sum, 
borrowed,  with  interest  according  to  the  contract.    Is  this  a  hard- 


On  th»  Utury  Lams,  6f 

dup  ?  So  iroald  the  loss  be  ft  hardship  to  the  lender,  who  perhaps 
is  the  least  able  to  bear  it.  The  law  attributes  gross  negligence  to 
a  person  who  is  so  careless  as  to  lose  borrowed  money;  and  in 
every  instance  of  gross  negligence,  the  fiiulty  person  is  justly  made 
the  loser. 

But  the  fourth  argument  is,  of  all^  the  most  remarkable.  It  is 
this,--^e  borrower  of  money  becomes,  on  its  delivery  to  him,  the 
owner  thereof,  with  absolute  right  to  dispose  of  it  at  his  will,  and 
ought  not  therefore  to  be  obliged  to  pay  for  the  use  of  that  which  is 
his  own.  This  argument  supposes  interest  to  be  paid  for  the  iden- 
tical piece  of  coin  or  slip  of  paper  transferred  by  the  lender  to  the 
borrower — ^instead  of  for  the  value  which  the  coin  or  paper  repre- 
sents. Of  the  external  sign  of  the  value  the  borrower  becomes  ab- 
sdute  master,  but  of  the  value^  itself  he  is  only  the  purchaser  for 
a  specified  time. 

The  whole  of  these  arguments  against  interest  are  founded  on 
the  false  assumption  already  named, — that  the  essential  character 
of  a  loan  is  charitable  and  gratuitous.  When  we  remember  that 
borrowing  and  lending  are  as  purely  busings  transactions  as  are 
buying  and  selling,  or  the  letting  to.  hire  of  land,  houses,  ships,  or 
merchandise,  we  shall  perceive  the  entire  inapplicability  of  all  ar- 
guments drawn  fix>m  a  contrary  supposition. 

The  weakness  of  these  arguments  will  further  appear  from  the 
fiict,  that  they  do  not  approach  the  real  substantial  reasons  for 
paying  and  receiving  interest.  The  inquiry  may  now  be  made* 
therefore,  why  should  interest  be  paid  ?  The  answer  is,  that  A,  by 
borrowing,  has  deprived  B,  perhaps  greatly  to  his  injury,  of  the 
power  of  employing  such  other  profitable  modes  of  investment  as 
he  would  otherwise  have  enjoyed,*^ — ^because  A  has  procured  of  B 
an  instrument,  by  means  of  which  he  can  benefit  himself,  either  by 
the  payment  of  former  debts,  the  purchase  of  desired  articles,  or 
any  otner  investment ;— because  B  has  assumed  the  risks  of  never 
bemg  paid,  arising  from  the  manner  in  which  A  shall  employ  the 
money,  from  his  personal  character  and  credit,  and  from  every 
other  circumstance  by. which  the  recovery  of  the  loan  is  rendered 
doubtful  or  difficult ; — and,  finally,  because  he  voluntarily  under- 
took, after  mature  deliberation,  with  a  full  understanding  of  the 
contract,  and  on  irhsX  he  deemed  ample  consideration,  to  make 
sudi  payment. 

If  these  reasons  be  not  sufficient  to  prove  that  nothing  in  the  law 
of  nature  forbids  either  the  payment  or  the  receipt  of  interest,  then 
is  there  no  contract  whatsoever,  amongst  business  men,  which  is 
consistent  with  the  law  of  nature. 

We  think  it  quite  clear,  therefore,  that  neither  revelation  nor 
natural  religion  pronounces  the  taking  or  the  giving  of  interest  to 
be  morally  wrong.  We  now  come  to  the  second  question :— ought 
the  Legislature  to  interfere  with  the  private  rights  of  borrowenr  and 
lenders,  and  attempt  to  fix  th^  rate  of  interest  by  limitation  ? 


to  On  the  Uiury  Laws. 

To  OS  it  fieemft  perfectly  inaiufest  that  the  laws-  shonld  ao  more 
interfere  with  money  contraeto,  than  vrith  oontracte  of  any  other 
kind.  In  the  one^  as  in  the  other^  provision  should  always  be 
aiada  against  fraud ;  but  the  rules  of  the  law  shoiM  be  of  general, 
instead  of  specific  application. 

The  laws  ought  not  to  interfere  with  the  rate  of  interest,  because 
9U0h  an  interference  is  an  mfrtnsemenf  of  private  rights,  un^ 
iDarranted  by  any  circumstance  of  public  benejit  or  convenience, 
and  therefore  whoBy  at  war  with  the  spirit  of  our  government. 

It  is  a  truth  femiliar  to  us  aU, — ^felt  by  us  all, — ^that  that  govern- 
ment  is  the  best,  which,  by  the  smallest  machinery,  and  the  sim- 
plest process,  and  the  least  infringement  of  individual  liberty,  ef- 
fects the  purpose  for  which  government  was  intended, — the  general 
wdfase. 

Guided  by  this  proposition,  and  knowing  that  a  part  of  ovEt  in- 
dividual Hberty  is  the  liberty  of  miiking  such  contracts  as  we  deem 
best  fox  our  own  interest, — ^the  liberty  of  managing  our  property 
in.  our  own  way, — ^we  cannot  but  feel  assured,  that,  unless  the  laws 
ftr  the  prevention  of  hiring  and  letting  money,  above  or  below  cer- 
tain rates,  be  called  for  by  the  public  good, — ^be  demanded  for  the 
purpose  of  preventing  or  removing  great  and  general  mischiefe, — 
they  are,  on  principle,  to  be  condemned  as  unnecessary,  and,  there<« 
A^e,  tyrannical. 

We  proceed  to  mquire  whether  there  be  evils,  and  what  those 
evils  are,  which  demand  for  their  cure  or  prevention  the  esurtence 
of  usury  laws. 

One  of  the  most  illustrious  of  the  Pblitical  Economists  of  the  last 
oentury,  remarks  in  his  work  on  the  Wealth  of  Nations,  ''  that  if 
the  laws  tolerated  the  giving  and  taking  of  a  rate  of  interest  much 
above  the  lowest  market  rate,  the  greater  part  of  the  money  lent 
would  be  lent  to  prodigak  and  prcgectors,  who  alone  wonla  give 
more  than  that  rate/' 

But  is  it  true,  that  if  money  contracts  were  left  unfettered  by 
law,  none  but  prodigals  and  imprudent  projectors  would  borrow  ? 

Nor  can  we  justly  fear  that  any  class  of  borrowers,  so  long  as 
they  can  offer  the  best  security,  will  be  subject  to  exorbitant  de- 
mands. Competition  amongst  lenders  will  always  bring  security 
and  rates  oi  interest  to  their  proper  levd.  No  one  wS  contend 
that  money  should  be  lent  on  bad  credit  and  doubtful  security,  at 
a^xate  so  low  as  that  commanded  by  the  best  credit,  and  the  most 
uncmestionable  security. 

1  That  prodigals  and  projectors  would  ever  monopolize  the  borrow- 
ing market,  no  one,  who  knows  how  few  there  are  in  any  commu- 
nity,  and  how  seldom  they  are  found  amongst  us,  can  believe. 

The  snqpposition  invcdved  in  Smith's  argument  is,  therefore,  felse. 
Nor  is  &at  alL  Were  it  true,  the  argument  would  nevertheless 
fitil^  inasmuch  as  the  bare  feet  that  the  two  classes  of  men  therein 
named  might  become  large  b(»rrowers>  and  be  exposed  to  extortion, 


On  the  Usttry  Laws,  71 

»  no  justification  of  the  law.  The  law  has  no  more  right  Co  pre- 
vent 8uch  pei^ons  from  forming  money  contract?^  than  it  has  (o 
prevent  them  from  purchasing  or  selfing  everj  species  of  property 
at  ruinous  prices. 

The  laws  may^  and  very  properlv  do^  provide  for  the  appointment 
of  gQordiaiis  over  those  whose  conduct  shows  them  incapable  of  self- 
direction.  They  provide^  with  equal  propriety^  that  the  designing 
and  fraudulent  shall  not  be  allowea  to  harm  these  helpless  creatures 
in  person  or  property.  Beyond  this  they  have  n6  right  to  go, — 
and  every  step  beyond  is  to  be  repelled  as  a  trespass  upon  the  sa- 
cred precincts  of  man's  inalienable  rights. 

It  has  been  very  truly  remarked,  that  he  must  be  poorly  supphed 
with  discretion,  who  cannot  make  his  own  bargains  more  judiciously 
than  any  legislature  can  make  them  for  him.' 

We  come  to  the  conclusion,  then,  that  neither  the  prevention  of 
prodigality  or  imprudent  speculation,  nor  the  protection  of  folly,  is 
a  sufficient  cause  for  legal  interference  with  the  rate  of  interest. 
It  may  further  be  remarked,  that  if  the  law  can  be  justified  in 
this  interference,  under  pretext  of  protecting  simplicity,  it  ought 
to  go  farther  than  it  ever  has  done,  and  forbid  the  lending  of  money 
under  a  certain  rate  per  cent. ;  for  surely  the  simplicity  of  a 
money  lender  is  as  proper  a  subject  of  legislation,  as  the  folly  of  a 
borrower ;  and  we  know  not  which,  in  a  business  point  of  view, 
would  be  deemed  the  greater  simpleton, — ^he  who  lets  money  at  fiv6 
per  cent,  when  it  is  really  worth  eighteen,— or  he  who  borrows  it 
at  eighteen  per  cent,  when  it  is  woith  only  five. 

It  cannot  be  doubted  that,  if  the  usury  laws  were  repealed,  there 
would  be  occasional  instances  of  fraud  and  extortion  ;  but  neither 
can  it  be  doubted  that  there  are  such  instances  now. 

It  cannot  be  questioned  that  an  occasional  prodigal  or  simpleton*, 
or  other  person  in  pressing  want  of  money,  would,  in  case  there 
were  no  laws  against  usury,  be  obliged  to  ]>ay  a  miich  higher  rat^ 
of  mterest  than  is  now  the  legal  rate.  Sut  under  the  laws  them- 
selves, many  an  honest  and  prudent  man  is  forced,  nay  more,  is 
willing  and  anxious,  to  pay  the  same  excess. 

The  second  argument  against  usury  laws  is  ^  that,  so  far  as 
concerns  their  declared  intention^  they  are  absolute  nulKties;  in 
other  wordsy  that  they  are  always  evaded  and  violated.* 

It  is  so  now :  it  always  has  been  so :  and  it  always  will  be  so, 
while  such  laws  exist. 

We  have  perceived  that  the  practice  of  usury  Was  always  absurd 
in  exact  proportion  to  the  severity  of  the  laws  against  it.  When 
the  laws  amounted  to  prohibition,  then  interest  was  highest :  as 
they  relaxed  in  severity,  it  grew  moderate  in  its  rate.  Thus  in 
Grreece,  where  there  was  no  legal  interference,  money  ebul^  be  pro^ 
cured  on  the  most  hazardous  voyages,  at  a  rate  iar  below  that  paid 
by  the  fkrmers  of  Cyprus  on  comnK>n  loans  m  the  days  of  Cicero. 


72  On  the  Usury  Laws, 

So  now  in  Constantinople^  where  usury  is  wholly  forbidden^  the 
customary  rate  of  interest  on  ordinary  loans  is  30  per  cent. 

Let  us  now  translate  the  lessons  of  experience  and  observation 
into  common  language^  and  we  shall  learn  from  them  that  borrow- 
ing and  lending  will  exist  in  defiance  of  law,  in  every  commercial 
community;  that  money  will  always  command  its  full  market  value; 
that,  if  the  laws  fix  a  rate  much  below  the  average  market  price, 
they  will  be  subject  to  constant,  direct,  and  indirect  violation ;  and 
that,  if  the  laws  fix  a  rate  differing  but  little  from  the  average 
market  price,  they  will  be  infringed  only  when  the  market  price  is 
above  that  rate ;  we  have  before  seen  that  the  market  price  of 
money,  like  that  of  all  other  things,  is  ever  changing;  from  all 
which  follows  inevitably  the  conclusion,  that  the  laws  must  always 
be  subject  to  evasion  and  infraction. 

From  this  inability  of  the  laws  to  curb  the  course  of  business 
arises  certain  consequences,  the  nature  of  which  furnishes  a  third 
argument  against  usury  laws ; — ^to  wit,  that  they  are  a  serious 
evil  to  both  borrowers  and  lenders. 

Probably  all  of  us  have  felt  this  fact ; — ^perhaps  some  have  mis- 
understood it :  we  shall  endeavour  so  fax  as  we  can,  to  give  an 
explanation  of  it. 

The  rate  of  interest  at  which  any  person  can  borrow,  depends 
chiefly  on  the  general  relation  at  that  time  existing  between  the 
supply  of  money  in  the  market  and  the  demand  for  its  use.  It  is 
also  affected  by  the  character  and  credit  of  the  borrower, — the 
nature  of  the  use  to  which  the  principal  will  be  applied,  if  that  can 
be  known, — and  a  multitude  of  other  circumstances,  which  vary 
the  probability  of  repayment : — or,  in  other  words,  by  the  security 
offered  by  the  borrower,  and  by  the  circumstances  attending  the 
loan. 

Interest  is  therefore  of  a  mixed  character ; — ^it  partakes  of  the 
nature  of  insurance  as  well  as  of  rent. 

When  the  market  rate  is  highest,  when  it  rises  above  the  law's 
allowance,  then  is  money  invariably  the  most  wanted.  At  such 
times  what  is  the  effect  of  the  law  ? 

Ostensibly  it  wholly  prevents  both  borrowing  and  lending.  It 
says  to  the  money-owner,  who,  of  course,  will  not  lend  below  the 
market  rate,  ^  You  shall  not  lend  at  all.'  It  says  to  the  would-be 
borrower,  whose  prospect  of  profit,  or  whose  fear  of  loss^  prompts 
him  to  hire  at  the  market  value,  '  No  matter  what  are  your  wishes, 
no  matter  what  your  necessities,  no  matter  how  excellent  your 
judgment,  you  shall  not  borrow  above  the  legal  rate.  I  know  that 
you  cannot  get  the  money  at  that  rate ;  I  know  that  you  could 
vastly  increase  your  property,  or  escape  destruction  by  borrowing 
at  almost  any  interest ;  but  you  had  better  by  far  stop  business 
than  procure  your  facilities  at  seven  per  cent.' 

To  the  man  of  small  capital,  whose  rich  neighbours  are  borrow- 
ing with  difficulty  at  full  legal  interest,  but  who  is  himself  unable 


On  the  Usury  Laws,  73 

to  oSn  the  best  seeurity^  and  of  course  cannot  borrow  quite  so  low, 
the  law  exclaims^  '^  I  pray  you  be  easy;  you  must  not  think  of 
over-bidding  the  law ;  you  cannot  borrow  in  these  days  ;  leave  that 
to  your  wealthier  neighbours^  and  wait  patiently  until  money  is 
worth  less.  They  may  be  amassing  still  larger  fortunes  meanwnile, 
and  you  may  be  ruined — ^but  there  is  some  comfort  in  being  ruined 
according  to  law." 

Such  are  the  principles  of  the  law.  A  more  odious  monopoly 
than  this, — a  more  hateful  distinction  in  favour  of  the  rich  and 
against  the  poor^  could  not  well  be  made. 

Such  are  not,  however,  the  real  effects  of  the  law,  as  a  general 
rule;  borrowers,  at  such  times,  laugh  at  the  law,  and  offer  the 
highest  price  demanded  for  money.  But  instead  of  paying  what 
would  be  its  price  were  there  no  usury  laws,  they  are  obliged  to 
pay,  as  an  insurance  against  the  laws,  at  least  33  per  cent,  above 
that  price. 

In  the  first  place,  the  laws  hold  out  a  bribe  to  dishonest  bor- 
rowers sufficiently  large  to  tempt  almost  any  man  in  his  hour  of 
weakness  to  resist  the  payment  of  the  debt,  and  recover  back  from 
the  lender  that  penalty  which  -the  statutes  impose  upon  him. 
Against  this  risk^  created  by  legal  interference,  must  the  borrower 
insure  the  lender, — must  the  lender  insure  himself,  by  an  enhanced 
rate  of  interest ;  on  the  same  principle  that  the  lender  on  Bottomry 
bonds  increases  his  rate  in  the  stormy-season  of  tke  year,  or  on  a 
perilous  voyage. 

A  second  way  in  which  the  laws  are  an  injury  to  borrowers  by 
advancing  mterest  is,  diminishing  the  number  of  lenders,  and  con- 
sequently the  amount  of  that  competition  by  which  prices  are  kept 
down.  Many  a  man  will  refuse  to  lend  at  any  rate,  when  tne 
market  price  of  money  exceeds  the  legal  per  centage.  Respecting 
the  laws,  even  when  manifestly  wrong,  they  retire  from  the  market. 
Thus  is  competition  diminished.  By  the  same  process  the  quantity 
of  capital  in  the  market  is  also  reduced,  and  that  which  remains 
commands,  of  course,  an  increased  price. 

Besides  these  unfavourable  eircumstances,  there  is  another. 
Many  persons,  refusing  to  lend  above  the  legal  rate,  prefer  to  lend 
at  that  rate  to  such  borrowers  as  can  give  the  best  security.  Such 
men,  therefore,  become  the  creditors  of  banks  and  other  monied 
corporations,  which,  having  themselves  no  such  scruples,  do  not 
hesitate  to  lend  at  the  top  of  the  market. 

This  diminution  of  capital  and  of  competition,  as  we  before  said, 
elevates  the  price  of  money :  for  money  lending  is  like  stage  driv- 
ing,— the  more  the  opposition  the  lower  the  fare  :  it  is  like  every 
other  kind  of  business,  the  smaller  the  quantity  in  the  market  while 
the  demand  continues,  the  highef  is  the  price. 

But  the  evils  of  the  law  are  yet  more  extensive.  Those  men, 
who  retire  from  the  market  rather  than  violate  the  law,  are  the  very 
men  with  whom  borrowers  should  prefer  to  deal.     They  are  the 


74  Ontke  Uimy  Laws. 

tAost  gctkefotutt  the  most  con8<;ieiitiou8»  the  most  honourable*  These 
who  remaizi  as  lenders  are  in  ^neral  less  generous^  if  not  less 
honotirable  and  conscientious.  What  is  the  consequence?  Is  it 
not  a  more  rigid  exaction  of  the  highest  price  for  money  ? — a  more 
unyielding  and  unmerciful  spirit  of  money  making  ? 

In  view  of  all  these  fiicts^  can  it  be  doubted  that  usury  laws  are 
an  injury  to  borrowers  ?  Could  this  be  made  the  general  opinion^ 
those  laws  would  dpee<£ly  feU  before  the  voice  of  public  dislike; 
for  borrowers  form  an  immense  majority  in  the  community,  and  it 
is  their  mistaken  trust  in  the  beneficial  eflkct  of  the  laws  which  has 
preserved  them. 

The  injuries  inflicted  upon  lenders  by  legal  interference  are  equal 
in  number  and  severity.  They  increase  the  risks  upon  which  money 
is  lent.  It  ought  to  be  knoVn  and  fdt,  that  nSpart  of  what  ^ 
charged  upon  the  borrower  in  the  nature  of  insurance  is  justly 
called  profit.  It  is  not  profit:  it  is  indemnity, — indemnity  for  the 
loss  of  security.  That  part  of  the  rate  of  interest,  which  is  pro- 
perly called  profit,  is  the  small  fraction  which  the  lender  would 
charge  were  the  repayment  of  the  sum  lent  positively  certain.  That 
this  is  very  small,  may  be  seen  in  the  fact,  that  a  very  low  rate  of 
interest  is  charged  on  money  lent  upon  the  security  of  real  estate^ 
— and  a  stOl  smaller  rate  on  that  upon  government  security.  When 
money  is  worth  more  than  the  legal  rate,  the  perils  of  lenaing  hold 
a  mudh  larger  proportion  to  the  profit  than  on  ordinary  occasions. 
That  this  is  an  injury  no  one  can  doubt. 

In  conclusion^  we  must  observe,  and  truth  and  justice  will  sus* 
fain  us  in  it,  that  there  is  not  in  the  whole  circle  of  human  afiairs^ 
any  species  of  contract  whatsoever,  voluntarily  formed  by  and  be- 
tween persons  of  sound  mind,  whether  it  be  purchase  or  sale,  or 
lease,  or  charter-party,  or  any  other  mode  of  traffic  devised  by  hu- 
man ingenuity,  ever  prompt  to  relieve  its  own  necessities,  whidi 
the  laWj  if  consistent  with  itself,  ought  not  to  restrict  by  the  same 
regulations  which  now  encumber  the  letting  to  hire  of  money ;  and 
we  need  not  fear  to  defy  the  most  subtle  intellect  to  point  out  a 
solid  reason  for  the  invidious  distinction  which  now  exists.  Time 
was  when  the  legislature  extended  its  interfereuce  with  private 
rights  to  almost  every  act  of  private  life.  But  that  was  a  day  of 
political  darkness.  The  wisdom  of  the  people  has  ever  since  been 
mcreasing ;  one  after  another  of  these  legal  abuses  has  been  re- 
moved by  more  intelligent  legislatures,  until  no  relic  remains  of  the 
old  regime  of  error,  excepting  the  laws  against  usurv.  A  still  fiirther 
reform  will  follow  that  increase  of  knowledge  wnich  is  now  en- 
lightening the  community,  and  we  trust  that  the  time  is  not  very 
distant  when  these  will  disappear. 

Such  are  some  of  the  arguments  which  seem  to  us  to  prove  that 
usury  laws  ought  not  to  exist.  It  would  be  easy  to  multiply  them^ 
-^but  we  trust  that  we  have  said  enough  to  satisfy  any  reasonable 
man  of  the  truth  of  the  proposition  which  we  have  enaeavoured  to 


Tah$  of  hehmi.  71 

{«M^  W«  bav«  seen  that  00187 1&WB  ^""^  ne^dltw  ioiSaag^meiA^^ 
indiTidaal  Iibai;75  called  for  by  no  public  necessity  and  prodocug 
no  beneficial  eflfect.  We  have  seen  that  they  are  a  dead  letter 
almiys  Elated  and  evaded.  We  have  seen  that  they  are  produc* 
live  of  enormoos  evib  to  both  borvowers  and  lenders,  the  largest 
ahaore  of  the  evils  being  inflicted  on  tiiose  who  borrow.  We  have 
seen  that  they  are  foiuMled;  iqmn  fiadse  notions  of  political  economy ; 
aad,  finally,  that  they  are  inconsistent  in  principle,  and  partial  iai 
tbeir  operation.  In  view  of  all  theae  arginneats,  and  remembering 
that  in  stsiet  jnstioe  it  is  incumbent  npouthe  advocates  of  sach  kwa 
•o  pove  their  daima  to  our  fiarvoonible  regard,  we  feel  ourselves 
aiithomed  to  conidnde  that  they  oogfat  to  be  abotished. 


AaT.  VI. — Tkk9  of  inkmd.  By  the  Author  of  **  Traits  and  Stories  of 
the  Irish  Peasantry."  1  Vol.  8vo.  London :  Simpkixi  and  Marshall. 
1684. 

l^nsE  Tales  are  by  no  ordinary  writer,  as  every  page  of  this  volume 
proves,  and  as  every  one  will  admit  who  has  read  the  ^'Traita 
and  Stories  of  the  Irish  Peasantry/'  They  are  seven  in  number; 
consequently  short;  but  they  are  powerful  and  graphic.  It  is  im- 
possible, in  reeding  any  one  of  them,  not  to  perceive  that  the  pie^ 
tares  they  present  are  true.  They  are  chiefly  of  a  serious  nature, 
the  writes  solicitude  being  to  do  mere  than  amuse.  We  haver 
often  thought  that  it  is  something  better  than  being:  harmlessr 
that  tt  to  be  expected  in  the  writings  of  any  one  who  is  aware  of 
the  value  of  lime.  In  the  slightest  and  lightest  piece,  positive 
good!  should  be  aimed  at  by  the  author.  And  the  volume  before  us 
accomplishes  this  end  to  a  greater  extent  than  might  be  expected 
fbom  its  exterior,  its  title,  or  the  order  of  literature  to  which  it  be- 
longs. The  pictures  it  gives,  are  of  ignorance  among  the  Irish 
Roman  Cathcdic  people,  as  to  the  great  doctrines  of  Christianity, 
of  their  servile  fear  of  the  priesthood,  and  of  the  defdovable  eflecta 
which  often  proceed  from  marriages  between  Catholics  and  Pto^ 
testants.  These  topice  are  handled  with  great  earnestness,  and 
eaforced  through  the  medium  of  excellently  concocted  and  well-told 

The  author  modestly  expresses  his  Ambts  as  to  their  success, 
having  been  written  previously  to  each  of  the  preceding  works  pub* 
liriied  by  him,  although  they  have  alreadv  appeared  in  a  periodi- 
ca. Their  priority  in  poiut  of  writing  does  not  by  any  meana 
piDve  that  they  will  be  inferior  to  others  previously  published. 
Such  a  circumstance  often  has  quite  an  opposite  vesult.  The  eldest 
diild  is  not  unfrequently  the  best  as  well  as  the  deaiest.  The  first 
eflbrts  of  im  author  are  as  often  the  freshest  and  most  original  oB 
his  preductioiiks.  But  we  are  chiefly  called  on  to  let  oat  readers^ 
have  an  opportunity  of  judging  for  themselves  of  these  tales,  which 


I 


76  J^es  of  Ireland. 

are  strikingly  illustrative  of  the  religious  prejudices  and  feelings  rf 
the  Irish  people. 

-  The  first  in  the  volume  is,  "The  Death  of  a  Devotee;"— a  man 
who  dies,  trusting  and.  clinging  for  salvation  to  his  guilty  soul,  fiilly 
more  to  forms  and  symbol  than  to  the  holy  Redeemer,  whilst  his 
priest,  an  old  frail  man,  has  a  knowledge  of  the  truth,  and  a 
thorough  reliance  alone  upon  Him  who  is  mighty  to  save.  These 
are  solemn  subjects  to  be  treated  of  in  tales  and  fictions,  but  there 
is  neither  levity  nor  rashness  in  the  handling  of  them  by  the  writer. 
Indeed  the  result,  after  reading  the  one  we  are  first  to  quote  from, 
is  an  awfid  and  weighty  conception  of  the  infinite  importance  not 
merely  of  a  good  life,  but  of  a  sound  belief  and  right  knowledge  in 
the  leading  doctrines  of  Christianity.  The  incidents  all  belong  to 
a  stormy  night,  the  description  of  which  attunes  the  mind  of  the 
reader  to  a  proper  condition  for  more  appalling  things.  But  first 
of  the  site  of  a  habitation: — 

* 

**  The  priest's  house  was  situated  in  a  hollow,  somewhat  resembling 
an  old  excavation,  scooped  out  of  the  south  side  of  a  hill.  It  had  pro- 
bably been  a  limestone  quarry,  the  banks  of  which,  in  order  to  prevent 
waste,  had  been  levelled  in.  A  young  grove,  intermingled  with  some 
fine  old  elms,  grew  on  the  hill  immediately  above  the  house,  and  a  good 
garden  was  laid  out  on  the  slope  before  the  door.  As  a  residence,  it  was 
tastefully  situated,  and  commanded  two  or  three  graceful  sweeps  of  a 
sunlit  river,  on  whose  bank  stood  a  picturesque  ruin.  A  well-wooded 
demesne,  a  cultivated  coimtry,  and  a  range  of  abrupt  mountains,  through 
a  cleft  in  which  a  road  trailed  up,  whose  white  track  was  visible  in  the 
darkness  of  the  mountain  soil,  closed  the  prospect.  Indeed,  from  the 
remarkable  site  of  the  house,  one  would  be  apt  to  suppose  that  it  was 
well  sheltered  from  wind  and  storm ;  the  reverse,  however,  was  the  fact ; 
for,  whenever  the  wind  came  from  the  north-west,  it  divided  itself,  as 
it  were,  behind  the  hill,  ^hich  was  long  and  ridgy,  and  rushed  round 
with  great  violence  until  it  met  again  in  the  cavity  in  which  the  priest's 
house  was  built,  where  the  confluence  of  the  opposing  tides  formed  a 
whirlwind  far  more  destructive  than  the  direct  blast.  Between  one  and 
two  o'clock  the  strength  of  the  storm,  though  startling,  had  nothing  in 
it  to  excite  particular  alarm.  Every  moment,  however,  it  became  more 
violent :  abrupt  and  rapid  gusts,  that  poured  down  from  each  side  of  the 
hill,  swept  round  the  house,  straining  its  rafters  and  collar  beams  until 
they  cracked.  It  soon  became  terrible ; — lights  were  got,  and,  although 
there  was  scarcely  a  crevice  in  the  house,  through  which  a  breath  of  air 
on  an  ordinary  night  could  come,  yet,  so  great  was  the  strength  of  the 
wind,  that  arrowy  blasts  shot  in  every  direction  through  the  rooms, 
with  such  force  as  to  extinguish  the  lights  when  brought  within  their 
range.  Still  it  increased,  and  the  thunder-groans  of  the  tempest  were 
tremendous.  The  night  hitherto  had  not  been  very  dark ;  indeed,  no 
windy  night  is  so ;  but  we  now  perceived  the  darkness  to  increase  most 
rapidly,  until  it  was  utter  and  palpable.  The  straining  of.  the  house  and 
rafters  was  excessive — every  light  body  was  carried  about  like  chaff — 
many  of  the  trees  were  crashed  to  pieces,  and  huge  branches,  reft  from 


Taht  of  Irdtmd.  77 

parent  trunks,  were  borne  away  like  straws,  wherever  the  fury  of 
the  elements  carried  them. 

**  The  night  was  now  pitchy  dark,  though,  for  a  few  minutes  before 
tins,  fearful  lulls  were  noticed,  which  excited  fresh  alarm.  We  could 
now  look  out  through  the  windows,  and  the  dark  confused  air,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  aspect  of  the  sky,  was  really  appalling ; — at  the  verge  of 
the  horizon  the  heavens  were  of  a  lurid  copper  colour,  appearing  as  if 
they  glowed  with  a  fiery  hotness :  this  was  motionless,  whilst  the  massive 
clouds,  from  which  the  lightning  shot  in  every  direction,  sped  rapidly 
in  dark  irregular  piles,  seemingly  to  one  point  of  the  sky.  The  moon 
became  visible  by  glimpses,  and  flew  through  the  heavens  in  the  direc- 
tson  from  which  the  tempest  came,  with  the  speed  of  the  wind." — ^pp. 


The  hurricane  subsides^  but  there  are  other  storms  than  those  of 
1^  rain^  and  thunder.     That  of  fear  or  remorse  is  more  terri- 
ble:— 

*'  '  Open  the  door,'  said  a  voice — *  for  the  sake  of  the  Blessed  Mother^ 
will  you  open  the  door  fast  ? ' 

*'  *  What's  the  matther  ? '  said  one  of  the  servants,  who  was  still  up. 

**  *  Death's  the  matther,'  said  the  man,  entering  quite  out  of  breathe 
*  John  Lynch  is  dyin' — ^and  may  the  Holv  Mother  of  God  have  meicy 
upon  me,  but  you  could  hear  him  skreechm',  clear  an'  clane,  above  the 
wind  and  tundher  an'  all :  Oh  I  Mike,  Mike,  bis  voice  is  still  ringin'  in 
my  ears,  so  sharp,  wild,  an'  unnatural,  bekase  you  see  it  has  the  sound  of 
death  in  it.  '  The  priest ! — the  priest  I '  he  shouts^—*  the  priest — ^bring 
me  Father  Moyle — bring  me  Father  Moyle — ^no  man  but  him  will  do 
me ;' — ^then  forgettin'  that  for  a  minute,  he  goes  on — *•  pray  for  me — ^pray 
for  me — ^will  none  of  yees  pray  for  my  guilty  sowl  ? — Ye  careless  pack, 
won't  yees  offer  up  one  prayer  for  me  ? — ^but,  bring  me  the  priest  first — 
yees  needn't  pray  till  he  comes — ^it  would  be  no  use — ^bring  me  the 
priest,  for  the  sak  of  the  livin'  Mother  I '  May  I  never  commit  another 
sin,  but  his  voice  would  chill  the  marrow  in  your  bones,  or  make  your 
teeth  cranch,  its  so  wild  and  unnatural.'" — p.  10. 

The  old  priest  is  in  bed^  and  so  poorly  and  weak  as  to  be  unable 
to  venture  out,  especially  in  such  a  night :  his  servant  will  not  at 
first  allow  him  to  be  disturbed ;  but  at  last  by  the  most  vehement 
appeals,  and  even  threats  that  the  priest  shall  be  carried  to  the 
dpng  man's  bedside  by  force, — ^for  ^^  who  can  stop  death,  can  ye 
tdl  OB  ?"  and  ''  can  the  man  wait  for  the  morning  ?'' — the  man  of 
God  exerts  himself  and  reaches  the  devotee's  presence.  When 
Father  Moyle  t)ie  priest,  arrives,  the  dying  man  is  calling  out, 
^  Mast  I  die  without  bein'  anointed  or  absolved  ?"  and  his  wife  is 
consoling  him  by  saying,  ^'  sure  you  need  not  feel  so  much  afeard ; 
you  weam't  that. bad  man  at  any  how'; — ^besides  you  have  the 
Coard  of  blessed  St.  Francis,  and  the  holy  scapular  of  the  Mother 
of  God  herself  upon  your  body."  But  at  length  he  addresses  the 
priest : — 

^**  Absolve  me — ^for  the  sake  of  the  Bleissed  Mother,  absolve  me,  I 
my  I'  shrieked  Lynch,  as  he  stretched  out  his  fleshless  arms,  with  the 
BKMt  intense  supplication,  to  the  priest.     '  Let  me  get  absolution,  an'  die.' 


78  l\ak»  cf  ireUmd. 

-  '> 'Itooaifta^«aaer/»epUedtlkepnMt;  'think  not  to  draw 'Oomolaliaii 
from  fne,  I  cannot,  nor  will  I,  mock  the  awful  power  4>f  God  by  tbi 
jjTiiffPfLTiipg  form  of  a  rite,  particularly  when  the  heart  is  dead  to  a 
living  £bu^.' 

'*  *'  Anoint  me,  then*'  ssdid  the  other-*' anoint  ma :  aurely  you  won't 
let  me  die  like  a  heretic  or  a  dog,  without  the  benefit  of  ihoU^  at  laste  ?' 

"  *  I  am  myself,*  re|>lied  the  priest,  *  on  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  I 
cannot  triAe  either  with  my  salvation  or  your  own.  I  could  not  meet 
my  Redeemer,  if  I  turned  away  your  heart  from  Htm,  in  this  av«f^l 
hour.  TcU  me  that  you  renounce  every  thing,  except  Him  aloxtb,  and  I 
will  then  speak  peace  to  your  aouL' 

'*  *  Sure  I  do  believe  on  my  Redeemer/  replied  the  mao — ^  didn't  I 
always  believe  on  him  ?  I  only  want  absolution.' 

^  *  Hear  me,  you  deluded  man,'  said  the  priest :  '  as  I  shall  sland  be- 
fore the  throne  of  judgment,  and,  aa  God  Uveth,  there  is  none  but  God 
can  g^ve  you  absolution.' 

^  A  murmur  of  surprise  and  disapprobation  at  this  strange  doctrine 
burst  from  all  present;  the  priest  looked  round,  but  he  waa  fmu 

**  *  Heaven  and  earth,  cannot  y<m  do  it?*  aafeed  the  other,  distractedly. 

**  *  No  I'  xepli^  the  priest  soiemnly ;  *  to  forgive  sins  is  the  province 
of  God  demt^  aa  mtt  aa  to  ffive  grace  for  repentance  and  faith.' 

**  *  God  of  heaiven,'  criea  the  other,  in  a  kind  of  impotent  fury,  *  why 
didn't  you  tell  me  this  before  ?' 

«*  The  prieat  gasped  for  breath,  and  only  answered  with  a  g^roon  that 
shoc^  hia  whole  frame. 

**  'Is  there  nohqpe?*  asked  Lynch. 

'« *  Repent,'  said  the  priest-^'  repent  from  the  bottom  of  yeur  heart, 
and  believe  that  Christ  died  for  you,  and  rest  assured,  that,  if  your  sins 
were  ten  thousand  times  greater  than  they  are,  they  can  be  i|iade  whiter 
than  snow.     Can  you,  therefore,  believe  that  Christ  died  for  you  ?' 

**  *  I  can,  I  can,'  said  the  other :  '  didn't  I  always  believe  it  r 

"  A  gleam  of  delight  passed  over  the  priest's  features,  and  he  turned 
up  his  eyes  gratefully  to  heaven.  He  proceeded-*-*  Can  you  believe  that 
nothing  else  but  repentance  and  that  faith  which  I  have  described  are 
able  to  save  you  ?' 

«« '  I  can,  I  can,'  said  the  man ;  *  will  you  absolve  me  now  ?' 

"  '  Do  you  renounce  all  trust  in  this,  and  in  this  ?'  said  Father  Moyle, 
taking  up  the  Coard  of  St.  Francis  and  the  Scapular,  both  of  which  the 
other  had  pressed  to  his  bosom.  The  man  clutched  them  more  closely, 
and  was  silent.    *  Answer  me,'  said  Father  Moyle,  *  ere  it  be  too  late .' 

**  *  Here,'  said  the  man,  *  1  can  give  up  the  Coard  of  St.  Francis ;  but 
—but — is  it  to  g^ve  up  the  Ordher  of  the  Mother  of  God?  No,  no,  I 
couldn't  give  up  thai;  I  dam't  make  her  my  enemy.' 

^  *•  Do  vou  feel  that  a  form  of  absolution,  or  the  application  of  extreme 
unction,  m>m  me,  cannot  pardon  your  sins  ?' 

^  '  Sure  I  know  they  oan^'  replied  the  other*'  "-^H>.  29-^L 

A  more  accommodating  spiritaal  adviser  however  anivea;  lie 
administers  the  last  rites  of  the  church,  and  the  poor  man  dies 
greatly  composed,  clinging  to  his  idols,  his  scapulars  and  his  unc- 
tions, but  refusing  to  ground  all  his  hopes  on  Him  before  whom  he 


7W«l  0/  irekm4'  79 

tt  4d  go  to  be  jadged.     Now  in  «li  Am  there  ss  mithmt  mmvkvah 
aensibilitjr^  nor  proJhne  trifling  with  awful  names  and  themes. 

We  next  have  the  priest's  funeral;  the  dying  of  <dd  Falhor 
Moyle  himself,  whose  conduct  at  poor  Lynch's  death  prepares  us 
to  understand  why  his  brethren  and  his  superiors  are  in  great 
trouble  to  prevent  any  one  but  themselves  to  have  access  to  the 
last  scene  of  one  of  their  order^  whose  opinions  have  taken  such 
a  turn.  This  sketch  gives  any  things  but  a  favourable  picture  of 
the  Catholic  priesthood  pf  Ireland^  and,  if  it  be  a  true  one,  accounts 
for  much  of  the  ignorance  and  fury  of  the  k>wer  orders* 

Th«  third  tale  is  called  Makine,  and  it  is  of  a  humoiQxws  cha- 
racter. Then  comes  the  longest  in  the  volume,  called  the  Brotbefs, 
which  is  meimt  to  exhibit  the  consequenoe  cf  such  ill-assorted 
marriages  as  those  between  Protestants  and  Roman  Catholics. 
Peggy  Graham  is  the  daughter  of  protestant  parents,  and  has  been 
oardblly  educated  for  her  rank  in  life ;  she  elopes,  and  is  married 
to  a  repulsive  cunning  and  heartless  Catholic,  Dan  Gallagher. 

**  In  Ireland,  elopements  of  this  nature  are  never  considered  disgrace- 
ful, although  it  frequently  happens  that  they  are  attended  with  deep  and 
lasting  calamity  to  the  parties  themselves.  It  somedmes  happens,  that 
the  parents  of  the  young  perscws  are  well  aware  of  their  intention  '  to 
nm  away  with  one  another  f  in  general,  however,  the  elopement  mostly 
takes  place  without  either  their  knowledge  or  concurrence.  The  ^- 
langements  usually  made  on  such  oeoasions  are  these  :-^The  yoimg  man 
having  gained  the  consent  of  her  to  whom  he  is  determined  to  unite 
himself,  appoints  the  place  and  hour  of  meeting ;  he  then  goes  to  soma 
friend,  to  whom  he  discloses  the  seoret,  and  a^s  permission  to  bring  her 
to  his  house — a  request  which,  I  believe,  has  never  yet  been  refused; 
this  person  is  either  a  relation  by  blood  or  marriage,  for  the  most  part ; 
thwugh  a  gossip,  or  particular  friend,  is  oiten  solicited  for  the  purpose. 
This  young  man,  having  thus  communicated  his  intention,  sends  a  stock 
of  spirits  to  the  house  of  his  friend,  sufficient  to  entertain  those  whom 
they  may  think  proper  to  ask.  The  latter,  of  course,  meet ;  but  in  cases 
where  there  may  b^  an  apprehension,  that  the  disclosure  of  the  parties' 
ziai^es  about  to  elope  woiUd  reach  their  respective  parents,  the  invited 
Mends  are  left  in  the  dark  upon  this  point.  They  are  informed  that 
such  a  circumstance  is  about  to  take  place,  and  that  it  is  expected  they 
will  attend.  They  accordingly  meet,  and  the  night  is  spent  in  drinking, 
singing,  and  mirth." — ^pp.  158,  159. 

The  marriage  ceremony  is  performed  by  a  Catholic  priest,  and 
is  hastily  arrived  at  through  the  eloquence  of  Harry  Moran,  the 
bridegroom's  confidential  fiiend. 

^  Having  thus  gained  his  point,  he  went  out  once  more,  and,  in  a  few 
minutes,  led  in  a  large  figure  enveloped  in  a  blue  drug|^et  quilt,  which 
entirely  eoncealed  his  person  as  far  as  his  knees,  just  exhibiting  a  pair  of 
ftont  legs,  cased  in  black  gaiters,  which,  probably,  were  left  visible  to 
estabUsh  Us  clerical  character. 

'*  But,  perhaps,  the  most  ludicrous  part  of  his  disguise  was  the  mask 
which  concealed  his  visage.    This  cousisted  of  the  tin  cover  of  a  pot, 


80  Tales  of  Ireland. 

bent  round  his  fiiee,  and  tied  behind  his  neck  with  a  stHng.  Opposite  the 
eyes  were  two  holes,  large  enough  to  enable  this  reverend  masquerader 
to  take  an  accurate  survey  of  every  thing  about  him.  Before  the  mouth 
there  was  a  huge  slit  through  which  he  could  breathe,  speak,  and,  if 
necessary,  contrive  to  swallow  a  little  drink.  His  whole  figure,  which 
was  of  an  enormous  size,  produced  an  irresistibly  ludicrous  e£fect,  as, 
indeed,  it  was  calculated  to  do. 

*** Don't  be  alarmed,  nabours/  exclaimed  Harry;  ''tis  an  honest, 
worthy  gentleman,  that  we  respect;  and  I'll  be  bound  to  say,  that  there's 
not  a  clajgy  in  the  kingdom  can  do  his  work  in  finer  style ;  he's  the  man 
will  tie  the  knot  that  nothing  but  death  can  loose;  but  the  law's  danger- 
ous to  make  or  meddle  with,  and  it's  no  harm»  sometimes,  to  be  too  many 
for  it.' 

<*  Gallagber  and  Peggy  were  then  called  forward  by  Harry,  together 
with  another  young  woman,  who  was  to  act  as  bride's  maid ;  the  bride- 
groom, as  we  may  now  call  him,  selected  an  acquaintance,  as  his  man, 
upon  the  occasion,  and  Harry  himself  undertook  the  office  of  giving 
away  the  bride.  Every  thing  being  thus  arranged,  the  worthy  in  the 
mask  commenced  the  ceremony,  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  they  were  united. 

"  No  sooner  was  the  marriage  over,  than  Molly  and  her  two  maids 
set  to  work  with  such  vigour,  that  the  tables,  already  placed  for  the 
supper,  were  soon  covered  with  beef,  bacon,  and  fowls  in  abundance, 
for  the  fare  was  given  with  a  truly  Irish  heart.  The  reverend  mask  did 
not  take  the  chair  upon  this  memorable  night,  but  he  took  a  respectful 
share  of  the  viands  which  were  placed  before  him,  eating  and  drinking 
through  the  tin  veil,  with  a  perseverance  and  effect  worthy  of  an  alder- 
man.  Now,  let  not  the  fastidious  reader  conclude,  that  this  is  a  fiction ; 
for,  I  can  assure  him  that  ceremonies  of  this  nature  have  frequently 
taken  place  at  intermarriages  between  Catholics  and  Protestants,  nor  are 
they  yet  wholly  abolished." — ^pp.  166—167. 

The  heartless  husband  labours  for  years  to  convert  his  Protestant 
wife,  urged  and  backed  by  his  priest,  Father  Domeen.  They  have 
two  sons  ;  Ned,  the  elder,  is  of  his  father's  faith,  ignorant,  illiterate, 
and  worthless  ;  Tom,  the  younger,  is  every  way  the  reverse,  hav- 
ing profited  greatly  through  a  mother's  excellent  example.  He  is 
eighteen  years  of  age,  and  has,  without  his  father's  knowledge,  and 
mother's  too,  entered  himself  at  the  University  of  DubUn,  having 
privately  qucdified  himself  for  that  purpose.  Things  between  hus- 
band and  wife  are  thus  brought  to  a  cUmax. 

"  The  fact  is,  that  in  almost  every  intermarriage,  where  the  wife  is  a 
Protestant,  there  is  most  commonly  a  surrender,  on  the  part  of  the 
husband,  of  personal  independance,  and  of  that  delicacy  which  is  due  to 
the  feelings  and  privileges  of  a  wife  and  mother.  What  man,  what 
husband,  possessing  feeling  or  afifection  for  his  wife,  would  permit  her  to 
become  a  butt  for  the  insolence  and  ignorance  of  a  bigotted  and  illiterate 
priest  ?  Yet  so  it  happens,  and  ever  will  happen,  until  the  grappling 
irons  of  this  power  are  broken,  and  our  peasantry  taught  to  think  and  act 
like  men  whom  God  has  formed  for  nobler  ends  than  to  be  the  contented 
slaves  of  a  subtle  and  ambitious  class,  who  hang  upon  every  religious  and 
political  movement  among  nations,  to  watch  those  moments  in  which  they 
may  confirm  their  authority  over  mankind. 


Tales  of  Irelani.  81 

"  The  appearance  of  this  broken-hearted  woman,  would  have  mdited 
the  soul  of  any  man  but  a  dark  and  unfeeling  bigot.  So  long  had  ^e 
been  accustomed  to  habits  of  passive  and  unresisting  obedience  to  this 
slave — ^who,  unhappily,  was  invested  with  a  husband's  authority  over  her 
— that  in  every  thing,  but  the  abandonment  of  her  religious  faith,  she 
obeyed  him,  as  a  child  would  crouch  under  the  brow  of  a  tyrant  master  in 
a  village  school.  And,  perhaps,  it  was  the  exhibition  of  this  broken  spirit 
on  her  part,  that  induced  the  priest  and  her  husband  to  hope,  that,  by 
increasing  her  load  of  misery,  in  proportion  to  her  declining  strength, 
they  might  ultimately  succeed  in  changing  her  religious  opinions." — 
pp.  205,  206. 

She  is  called  to  be  sifted  respecting  her  son's  decided  step^  be- 
fore husband  and  priest,  and  his  entrance  at  the  University. 

"  Aware  of  the  presence  of  Father  Domeen,  and  of  her  husband's 
express  determination  to  turn  her  out  of  doors,  if  she  would  not  strain 
her  judgment  to  believe  what  it  condemned — she  betrayed  a  sense  of 
apprehension  and  nervous  excitement,  produced  by  Grallagher's  habits  of 
reproof  and  her  weak  health.  This,  however,  was  subdued  by  a  serene 
confidence  which  beamed  from  her  eye,  notwithstanding  the  fitful  alterna- 
tion of  pale  and  red  upon  her  cheek. 

"  Father  Domeen,  without  rising,  motioned  her  to  a  chair,  which  she 
took  with  as  much  humility  as  if  she  had  not  been  in  her  own  house.  ' 

" '  Hem — ^hem — this  is  a  beautiful  day  for  the  harvest,  Mrs.  Grallagher. 
Hem!' 

"  '  The  weather  is  excellent,  indeed.  Father  Domeen  ;  if  it  continues, 
there  is  every  hope  of  the  crops  being  abundant.' 

** '  Your  remark,  ma'am,  is  perfectly  correct ;  very  much  so,  indeed — 
hem.  It  is  also  good  travelling  weather,  ma*am,"  (a  wink  at  Gallagher,) 
"  excellent  weather  for  travelling — ^hem !  * 

" '  Is  it  not  rather  hot.  Sir  ? ' 

"  Eh  ? — ^rather — ^rather  hot  ?  Why,  upon  my  credibility,  it  is,  except 
to  those  who  travel  on  the  out — ^inside,  1  mean,  of  the  coach ;  still,  with 
a  good  worsted  comforter,  and  two  or  three  great  coats,  to  keep  out  the 
sun,  it's  not  bad  travelling  weather  for  all  that — ^hem !'  (another  wink  at 
Gallagher.) 

*'  *  Mrs.  Gallagher  made  no  reply. 

" '  How  did  Mr.  Thomas  travel,  Mrs.  Gallagher  ?  did  he  go  by  coach, 
ma'am  ? ' 

"  '  By  coach  !  Is  it  to  my  fathers  ? "  she  inquired ;  for  GhJlagher  had 
prevented  both  her  and  her  children  from  bestowing,  on  their  maternal 
relations,  those  epithets  which  express  the  degrees  of  consanguinity. 
''  You  know.  Sir,  that  no  coach  runs  in  this  part  of  the  country,  much 
less  betwixt  this  and Mulaghmore. '" — ^pp.  207,  208. 

She  is  greatly  struck  on  learning  that  her  excellent  son  is  not  at 
her  father's,  but  in  Dublin. 

"  She  exhibited  great  agitation,  and  her  hand  trembled  so  much  that 
she  could  scarcely  read  the  letter.  On  closing  it,  she  looked  mournfully 
at  her  husband,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  '  Poor  boy,'  said  she,  'he 
has  preferred  shaping  his  own  course  in  life,  to  the  lot  of  bitterness  and 
sorrow  which  he  was  compelled  to  suffer  under  his  father's  roof.  You, 
Father  Domeen,  are  acquainted  with  the  secrets  of  our  family,  aad  can 

VOL.  III.    (1834.)   NO.  I  Q 


82  Taies  of  Irelend. 

bear  witness  to  the  trudi  of  what  I  say.  His  fate  h^re — meek  and  dncom- 
plaining  as  he  was — oh!  Daniel,  Daniel,  you  know  that  fate  was  hard,  and 
his  treatment  harsh — my  dear  child! — ^yet  you  know,  too,  that  to  none 
living  did  he  ever  utter  a  complaint — never — ^he  bore  all  without  a  murmer, 
for  he  loved  the  hand  that  was  ever  up  in  enmity  agunst  him,  because  that 
hand  was  his  father's.  He  is  now,  however/  she  continued,  wiping  away 
the  tears  that  flowed  profusely,  *he  is  now  dead  to  us;  and  I — ^I — ^have 
lost  my  best  friend  and  companion,  whose  affectionate  hand  was  ever  ready 
to  wipe  away  the  tears  from  my  eyes/  She  wept  bitterly." — ^pp.  209 — 
210. 

Her  husband  is  persuaded  that  she  had  no  hand  m  their  son's 
decided  step  ;  but  he  could  not  allow  himself  to  let  slip  the  oppor- 
tunity of  enforcing  the  great  object  of  his  heart  respecting  her,  that 
of  proselytism. 

"'Well,  well,'  observed  Ghdlaghar,  'it's  of  no  use  to  be  makin'  any 
furtlier  inquiries  about  that ;  I  believe  she  knew  nothin'  of  it ;  but  now 
that  you  and  she.  Father  Domeen,  are  both  to  the  fore,  I  wish,  once  for 
all,  to  settle  whether  she  and  I  are  to  live  together  in  future,  or  not ;  that's 
the  point,  darlin',  I'm  comin'  to ;  you  knoW  I've  tould  you,  for  many  a  long 
year,  that  except  you'd  give  in,  it  would  end  this  way.' 

*'  The  poor  heart-broken  creature  gave  a  look  of  entreaty  and  depre- 
cation at  her  husband,  which  ought  to  have  touched  any  human  heart ; 
she  remained  silent,  however,  with  a  strong  expression  of  timidity,  if  not 
of  terror,  on  her  countenance. 

"  'We  are  both  for  your  good,  Mrs.  Gallagher,'  observed  the  priest, 

'  small  blame  to  any  man  for  not  wishing  to  see  his  wife  damn that  is» 

lost  eternally.' 

"  'You  must  answer  me  now,  for  the  last  time,'  said  the  husband ;  '  can 
you,  or  will  you  consent  to  become  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  go  to  your 
duties,  as  I  do  ? ' 

"  At  this  moment  her  physical  weakness  was  excessively  great ;  she  saw 
the  crisis  was  arrived — ^but  she  reflected  that  by  remaining  with  her  hus- 
band, she  might  eventually  gain  some  salutary  influence  over  her  other 
son,  whose  abandoned  life  gave  greater  poignancy  to  her  affliction.  To 
go  to  her  father's  would  have  been,  in  itself,  desirable ;  but  the  strength 
of  Christian  duty  and  maternal  aflfection,  inclined  her  to  remain  near  this 
unfortunate  young  man.  This  consideration  increased  the  difficulties  of 
her  trial,  and  she  sat  for  a  few  minutes,  pale,  and  incapable  of  getting  a 
word  to  her  lips. 

^' 'Mrs.  Gbllfi^her,'  sidd  the  priest,  giving  the  matter  a  new  turn,  *'  why 
woidd  you  hesitate,  ma'am — sure,  for  that  matter,  there's  not  so  much 
difference  between  the  two  religions,  at  all,  at  all — ^not  worth  thinking 
about ; '  and  he  winked  again  at  the  husband. 

**  *Give  us  an  answer/  said  the  husband ;  '  it  is  now  or  never  with  you; 
the  consequence  is  before  you — never  to  sleep  another  night  under  this 
roof.' 

"  Her  tears  were  now  dried  up,  but  her  lips  were  parched,  though  a 
slight  dewy  perspiration  broke  from  her  temples,  which  she  wiped  feebly. 

"  'Speak  out,  ma'am.'  said  the  priest,  '  speak  out,  and  may  God  give 
you  a  good  resolution.' 


Tales  of  Irelana.  63 

« 

"  •  If,  Dan/  she  replied,  *  1  am  not  to  remnin  here  except  I  become  a 
Roman  Catholic,  my  resolution  is  made ;  and  I  must  leave  you,  since  you 
will  have  it  so.  It  is  a  point  between  God  and  me,  in  which  his  written 
Word  is  my  gnide.  I  am  willing  to  go,  for  I  cannot  do  that,  to  oblige 
man,  which  my  conscience  condemns — excuse  me — I  am  not  able  to 
speak — ^I  ain  very  weak." — ^pp.  211 — 213. 

The  priest  and  her  husband  retired  for  a  little,  the  former  to 
spur  the  latter  on  to  a  more  decided  exercise  of  authority,  per- 
ceiving that  he  was  about  to  fail  in  such  a  trial.  Gi^agher  thus 
urged,  orders  the  cay  to  be  got  ready  to  carry  her  hence. 

"  '  You  must  go  now,'  said  he,  when  he  had  re-entered  the  room  in 
which 'she  sat,  '  I  haive  ordered  the  car-^in  the  course  of  to-morrow,  every 
thing  belonging  to  you  will  be  seat  to  your  father's.' 

"  She  rose  up  meekly  -^nd  submissively,  and  prepared  herself  for  de- 
parture. On  eoUeoting  a  few  things,  she  met  a  little  book,  which  she 
took  in  her  hand  and  gazed  on  for  a  short  time — she  kissed  it,  and  put  it 
in  hpt  bosom.  It  was  a  small  collection  of  poetry^  which  she  and  her  son 
Thomas  used  to  read  together,  in  the  absence  of  die  father  and  Ned. 

"  She  then  came  down  with  a  little  bundle  in  her  hand,  and  entered  the 
parlour,  to  bid  farewell  to  her  husband. 

"  *  I  cannot  part  from  you,  in  anger,'  said  she ;  but  her  feelings  over- 
came her,  and  she  could  utter  no  more.  She  extended  her  hand  to  him, 
and  from  an  impulse  of  some  feeling  that  was  new  to  him,  he  took  it 
Undly — she  looked  at  him  doubtingly,  like  a  child,  as  if  afraid  of  taking 
the  liberty-'4Mit  he  understood  her,  and  received  the  kiss  which  she 
offered  him. 

"  'Farewell,  Margaret,'  said  he,  '  I  would  save  you  if  I  could — God, 
who  is  in  heaven,  sees  my  heart,  I  would.' 

"  She  then  bid  Father  Domeen  farewell,  and  departed. 

"  When  the  car  drove  from  the  door,  Gallagher  went  to  the  window, 
and  kept  Bis  eyes  fixed  upon  her  form,  until  it  was  near  reaching  an  angle, 
that  would  have  taken  her  out  of  sight — she  turned  about  on  arriving  at 
it,  and  looked  in  the  direction  where  he  stood,  until  she  disappeared ;  and 
immediately  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  put  his  hands  upon  his  face,  and 
groaned  and  wept  aloud." — ^pp.  214 — ^215. 

Reckless  Ned,  the  eldest  son,  comes  in  and  finds  his  father  and 
the  priest  together,  the  former  sadly  agitated. 

"  '  What's  this  ?'  said  he,  '  what  ails  you,  father  ? — in  the  name  of  all 
that's  beautiful  it  is  cryin'  you  are?  whafs  the  matther?  eh.  Father 
Domeen?' 

"  *  Your  mother's  gone  from  us,  Ned !  \  replied  the  father,  '  I  sent  her 
away  at  last.' 

"  Ned  said  not  a  word  to  his  father ;  but  instantly  turning  on  his  heel — 
'Come,'  said  he,  to  the  priest,  'come,  you  intherlopin'  ould  sinner — 
march — out  of  the  house  with  you — clear  off — here,  Phadrick  Dalton,  get 
this  ould  sinner's  horse,  Father  Domeen's, — come  now,  you  common  dis- 
turber you — that's  good  for  nothin'  only  sowin'  dissention  among  families 
— off  you  go,  out  of  this ;  and  by  the  contents  of  the  primer,  if  ever  you 
show  your  nose  in  this  house  again,  I'll  read  you  out  from  the  althar,  as 
you  say  yourself; — ^you've  been  afther  poor  Tom,  because  you  thought  he 

g2 


B4  Taha  of  Ireland. 

was  a  Protestant,  or  likely  to  be  one — and  the  same  way  with  my  mother, 
till  the  life's  worn  out  of  her ;  but  myself  that's  more  than  half-¥ray  gone 
to  the  devil—- <iid  ever  you  trouble  yourself  about  me  ? — here  now,  there's 
your  horse— mount  him  and  show  us  your  horsemanship ; — ^in  the  mean 
tame,  with  the  blessin'  of  all  the  Saints,  male  an'  faymale,  my  mother  will 
sleep  undher  this  same  roof,  this  same  night  that's  in  it-«-an'  out  they  go 
that  will  say  agin  it,  father  or  priest,  I  don't  care  a  rush  which." — pp.  216 
—217. 

A  good  deal  of  low  abuse  parses  between  the  priest  and  Ned^  the 
latter  threatening  to  die  a  notestant  to  vex  the  spiritual  adviser^ 
is  good^  and  like  the  character  that  utters  the  idea.  The  priest, 
however,  has  to  depart  unceremoniously,  and  next  the  son  makeB 
good  his  point  with  the  father,  who  was  now  the  slave  of  this  spoiled 
child,  that  exacted  as  a  right  what  had  at  first  been  conceded  to  him 
from  indulgence.  After  this  he  deepens  in  crime  and  profligacy ; 
the  father  relapses  into  his  former  manner  towards  his  wife,  becomes 
a  drinker,  and  lifts  his  hand  against  her,  whilst  all  her  earthly  con- 
solation lays  in  sometimes  meeting  at  her  father's  her  younger  and 
worthy  son,  who  finishes  his  studies  at  college,  and  succeeds  in  ob- 
taining a  curacy  about  fifteen  miles  from  his  native  home.  Ned  is 
imprisoned  on  a  capital  charge,  where  the  mother,  in  a  dying  state, 
visits  him  along  with  the  young  curate.  The  &ther  joins  Uie  sor- 
rowful group,  and  at  last  craves  his  worthy  son's  pardon  for  much 
bad  usage  f^m  his  hand.  His  obstinacy  and  harshness  break 
down. 

"  Mrs.  GFallagher  was  scarcely  able  to  articulate,  but  the  sons  endea- 
voured to  compose  him,  *  Keep  away  from  me,  childer,'  he  exclaimed, 
'  keep  from  me.  I  destroyed  not  her  alone,  but  all  of  you.  Ned,  I'm  your 
murderer,  as  well  as  her's — I  am — and  you^  my  poor  Tom,  dear  knows 
what  hardship  and  distress  you  suffered  among  strangers,  fightin'  your  way 
alone,  and  without  help,  through  the  world.  Yes,  Ned  darlin',  I  am  your 
destroyer.  Had  I  given  you  proper  education,  and  not  backed  you  in  all 
your  folly,  an'  encouraged  an'  egged  you  on  as  I  did,  you  wouldn't  now 
be  as  you  are — but — but — I'm  punished — ^I'm  payin'  for  all,  though  I 
deserve  it  all.  What's  this — ^tiiere's  something  comin'  over  me — the 
room's  goin'  round — I'm  fallin' ! ' 

"  Ere  he  fell,  howeyer,  his  children  caught  him ;  and  on  bringing  him 
over  to  the  sofa,  he  appeared  insensible. 

"  My  dear  Mother,'  said  Thomas,  '  I  fear  this  scene  will  be  too  much 
for  you.' 

"  •  No,  my  dear,'  she  replied,  '  believe  me  I  am  happier  than  I  have 
been  for  a  long  time.  I  see  sorrow,  bitter  sorrow,  and  repentance  towards 
me — and  if,  before  I  go,  I  could  witness  the  same  compunction  in  their 
hearts  towards  God,  I  could  close  my  life  with  perfect  happiness.  Thank 
God;  blessed  be  God,  he  is  recovering.'  As  she  spoke,  GFallagher 
breathed ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  able  to  overcome  the  paroxysm  which 
the  highly- wrought  state  of  his  feelings  had  brought  on  him. 

"  Thomas  now  became  the  comforter ;  and  though  without  experience 
in  scenes  so  trying  as  this,  delivered  a  short  andfeeluig  exhortation  w^'"' 


Tale$  of  Ireland.  85 

Booceeded  in  Bootliing  them  very  much.  Mrs.  Ofdla^ier  then  gave  her 
last  parting  advice  and  blessing  to  her  unhappy  son,  who  was  absolutely 
torn  away  from  her. 

'*  *  Belmye/  said  he ;  '  stay  from  me — ^isn't  it  the  last  time  ? — ^let  me  go 
to  her — I  will,  I  must  go  to  her — oh!  mother,  will  you  leave  me  ? — make 
them  let  me  go  to  you  only  for  a  minute,  sure  I  only  mane  it  once,  till  I 
ax  her  blessing,  and  hear  it  from  her  own  blessed  lips  agin — let  me  loss 
her  then,  and  get  the  blessing,  as  I  said,  the  last  time  for  ever.  O !  blessed 
Mother!  is  she  gone — ^gone — gone,  and  am  I  never  to  see  her  more? 
Well,  now  I'll  go,  and  t£en  for  the  dhrink,  the  dhrink,  boys,  the  dhrink ! 
Nulty  and  Bredin,  where  are  yees  ?  Get  me  the  bottle,  for  the  sake  of 
heaven  above  me,  get  me  the  bottle.'  Alas!  it  is  distressing  to  go  on  with 
the  narrative.  That  night  he  was  carried  to  his  bed  in  a  state  of  helpless 
intoxication,  nor  did  he  affcerwardr  permit  himself  to  know  a  moment's 
sobriety,  maugre  the  entreaties,  and  solicitations,  of  father,  brother,  or 
priest.  *  You  have  two  choices,'  said  he,  *  it's  useless  tormenting  me ;  I 
will  either  dhrink  or  put  an  end  to  myself." — ^pp.  250 — 252. 

The  mother  lived  till  the  day  of  Ned's  trial;  he  was  condemned 
and  executed^  and  buried  in  the  same  grave  with  her.  The  father 
some  weeks  afterwards  was  struck  by  paralysis,  and  died  in  his 
younger  son*s  arms,  who  of  course  lived  and  prospered. 

Such  is  a  slight  sketch  of  The  Brothers,  a  tale  intended  to  ex- 
pose the  unrelenting  spirit  and  disastrous  consequences  of  prosely- 
tism.  That  such  domestic  calamities  and  scenes  are  to  be  met 
with  as  here  described  cannot  be  denied ;  but  we  doubt  the  good 
derived  from  such  a  mode  of  exposing  and  reproving  the  evil  re- 
fierred  to. 

'  The  story  is  a  fiction ;  the  person  who  concocts  it  feels  strongly 
on  one  side,  and  naturally  places  persons  and  events  just  as  suits 
the  view  started  with.  Those  of  the  same  way  of  thinking  with 
the  author  are  strengthened  in  their  hostUity,  and  so  are  they  who 
are  the  objects  of  exposure,  because  they  cannot  and  will  not  per- 
ceive the  fidelity  of  the  representation.  Facts  and  real  occurrences 
cannot  be  gainsaid,  but  it  is  easy  to  sneer  away  any  fabled  com- 
bination of  circumstances.  The  tale,  however,  is  carefully  and 
powerfully  carried  on,  and  gives  an  affecting  domestic  picture.  The 
ruin  that  overtakes  Ned,  the  eldest  son,  is  more  sorrowful  than  the 
breaking  of  the  heavenly-minded  mother's  heart ;  for  he  possessed 
the  materials  that  might  have  been  turned  to  noble  ends,  and  amid 
all  his  madness  in  folly  and  vice,  exhibited  strong  features  of  na- 
tural mental  strength. 

We  have  not  room  to  go  into  the  other  tales ;  ^'  The  Illicit  Dis- 
tiller, T"  **he  Dream  of  the  Broken  Heart,"  and  "  Lachlin  Murray 
and  the  Blessed  Candle."  The  two  first  are,  as  their  titles  in- 
timate of  »  senoos  kind :  the  last  full  of  superstition  and  religious 
bigotry.  Lachlin  was  a  weaver,  simple  minded,  and  unable  to 
read ;  but  full  of  all  the  wondrous  miracles  accompUshed  by  the 
Saints.  But  the  more  devout  he  grew,  the  slower  did  the  weaving 
business  get  on,  till  at  length  the  meal  barrel  got  empty.     He, 


86  Tale9  of  Ireland. 

however^  had  heard^  that  by  dint  of  prayer  and  other  religions 
exercises j full  barrels  might  be  miraculouslyfilled.  Accordingly, when 
meal  no  longer  was  left  him,  one  morning  he  ordered  his  mother  to 
put  down  the  pot,  with  as  much  water  in  it  as  would  make  them  a 
sufficient  mess : — 

"  The  pot  was,  therefore,  put  do-^n.  Lachlin  '  went  to  his  knees/  and 
commenced  a  most  meal- seeking  rosary  to  the  blessed  Vir^.  Fervently 
did  he  pray  for  some  time— -and  what  was  best  of  all,  his  appetite  inqreased 
with  bis  zeal — until  he  tb ought  there  ought  to  be,  in  all  reason,  at  least  a 
hundred  weight  of  meal  in  the  barrel.  At  length,  he  thought  it  time  ta 
inquire:  'Mother,  darling,'  said  he,  'will  you  thry  the  barrel?  there 
ought  to  be  a  decent  cast  in  it  by  this — I  have  prayed,  tooth  an'  nail,  for 
the  last  half  hour — how  does  it  stand,  jewel  ?' 

" '  Why,  blessed  be  her  name,  Lachlin,  avoumeen,  bad  scran  to  the 
dust's  to  be  had  for  love  or  money;  not  as  much  as  would  make  gruel  for 
a  mouse  in  a  conswimption — an*  the  pot's  boilin*  up  cleverly — who  did  you 
pray  to,  Lachlin,  a-lannah  ?' 

"  '  To  the  blessed  Vii-^n,  in  coorse,  mother-^is  there  never  a  dust  at  all 
at  all?* 

"  'To  be  sure,  darlin',  isn't  here  the  bottom,  clear  an'  dane  before  me— 
but  no  male,  Lachlin — an'  the  pot,  as  I  sed,  goin'  mad — Tiachlin,  a  hagnr, 
as  SHE  has  failed  you  this  bout,  hadn't  you  bettherthry  St.  Paidhrick?' 

"  He  sighed,  and  cast  a  melancholy  glance  at  the  pot,  and  commenced 
once  more  with  renewed  vigour.  A  second  rosary  was  offered  up,  toge- 
ther with  two  or  three  ornamental  prayers,  which  he  added  to  make  it 
more  effectual  and  complete.  When  these  were  concluded,  he  called  upon 
the  mother  a  second  time : 

"  'Mother,  wiU  you  give  the  smallest  taste  of  a  peep  into  the  barrel?' 
The  mother  complied.  '  Well,  mother — ^well  ?  Is  there  any  thing  besides 
the  bottom?* 

"  '  Full  it  is,  Lachlm,  of * 

•"Eh!  full — I  know'd  it — ^glorhia  wurrah! — ^I  know'd  it — I  knoVd 
whin  I  threw  in  the  last  three  pmyers,  as  a  dimrah*,  that  I'd  get  it.' 

*' '  — Asy,  Lachlin,  avoumeen,  'tis  full  of  emptiness  it  is — dane  aa'< 
clear  is  the  bottom  of  it  before  my  eyes  here,  without  as  much  as  you'd 
blow  off  a  sixpence  on  it." — ^pp.  339—341. 

We  extract  this  passage  merely  to  shew  what  we  bdieve  is  too 
often  not  an  overcharged  scene  among  the  most  illiterate  of  the  Irish 
peasantry.  It  is  a  lamentable  picture,  and  without  pretending  to 
point  out  the  best  means  of  rectifying  such  deplorable  evils,  we  may 
predict,  that  such  a  people  will  ever  be  an  inflammable  stock  for 
agitators  to  work  on.  But  this  is-  a  point  not  suitably  to  be  dis- 
cussed here,  and  we  therefore  dismiss  these  tales,  with  a  hearty 
approval  of  the  talent  and*  execution  of  the  author,  though  we  can- 
not anticipate  much  practical  good  of  the  kind  contemplated  to  re- 
sult from  them.  The  plates  are  striking,  and  partake,  like  the  work 
itself,  of  the  laughable  and  the  serious ;  the  latter  predominating. 
And  such,  with  all  its  raciness,  is  Irish  life. 

*  A  dhumh  ia  an  additional  qaantifcy  thrown  in  at  the  purchase  of  potatoes,  meal,  hay, 
&c.,  to  carry  luck  with  it,  and  to  make  certain  that  the  measure  is  complete. 


87 


Art.  VII.— I .  TTie  Works  of  Robert  Bums ;  with  his  Life.  By  Allan  Cun>- 

ningham.  Eight  vols.  8vo.  London :  Cockrane  k  M'Crone.  1834. 
2.  I%e  Life  atd  Poetical  Works  of  the  Rev.  George  Crabhe.    Eight  vols. 

Small  8vo.  By  his  Son.  London «  Murray.  1834. 
It  is  not  an  easy  mattar  to  write  the  life  of  a  man  of  genius,  nor 
witii  a  perfect  understanding  and  due  nicety  to  judge  of  his  works. 
The  office  requires  not  mraely  a  general  accomplishmrat  of  mind, 
but  a  kindred  perception  and  sympathy.  Besides,  if  the  subject  oS 
Wography,  and  his  productions  have  long  be«i  faniliar  to  us,  and 
adinir^  to  the  highest  pitch,  it  becomes  doubly  difficult  to  meet  the 
expectations  and  demands  that  aie  thereby  to  be  met,  and  fuffiUed, 
er^reaping  any  thing  Uke  the  propo^rewards  of  fiuthfiilness.  Robert 
Bunwand  his  works  impose  all  these  difficulties,  and,  at  the  very 
outset,  stare  the  writer  in  the  fece,  who  would  wish  to  place  them 
in  a  truer  and  fresher  Hght,  than  what  they  seemed  to  possess  from 
former  eflforts  of  representation.  It  is  difficult,  it  is,  perhaps,  as  im- 
Dossible  to  come  up  to  our  expectations  and  desires  respecting  this 
^t  poet,  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  Shakspeare,  at  least,  they  stand  in 
OTe  r^pect  m  the  same  relation  to  us ;  each  ofthem  being  essentiaUv 
the  child  and  poet  of  nature ;  each  of  them  being  fdt  and  understood, 
in  many  of  their  works,  by  every  human  heart,  and  with  a  degree  of 
deamesB  and  intensity,  that  defies  words  to  equal  and  describe. 
Hence  it  is,  that  we  are  never  satisfied  with  any  thmg  that  purports 
to  exhibit  to  us  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  such  a  genws  as 
anv  of  these  two  poets  was.  We  fed  always,  as  if  sometlung  were 
wMiting:  we  would  fain  get  a  step  higher  or  deeper,  and  though 
much  rfeased,  and  unable  to  point  out  what  is  wrong  or  a-wantmg, 
the  seCTot  feeling  is,  that '  this  is  not  yet  the  thing  . 

Perhaps  in  no  mstance  is  this  longmg  and  disappomtment  more 
g«i€ral  than  in  regard  to  Bums,  the  poet,  who  m  every  part  of  his 
works  must  be  fdt  by  the  learned  and  unlearned  ahke.  Cume  and 
Walker  did  much:  Lockhart  has  done  more  for  the  Ayrshire  bard; 
and  now  we  have  a  poet,  of  kindred  country,  rank  m  If,  taste  and 
knowledge,  addressing  himsdf  to  the  duty  which  we  fdt  has  not 
before  b^  perfectiy  performed ;  and  who,  though  he  may  throw  a 
n^ight  J^  th^  old  materials,  «  and  inform  them  with  fresh 

spirit  audse&ent,"  wiU,  we  are  P*^'^^^^ '^t*',,'^',^^!*  "^X 
wme  degree  unsatisfied.  For  who  can  behold  on  all  sides  the  hght 
of  a  luiMiary.  One  thing  is  clear,  that  no  man  could  approach  the 
subiect  of  the  volumes  before  us  with  a  finer  modesty,  and  a  greater 
hJdJSy  it  is  «  with  something  of  hope  and  fear  "  that  AUan  Cun- 
ningbSa,  the  poet,  whom  Bums  would  have  been  proud  to  Imve 
3S^  withVvery  day  of  his  life,  offers  this  work  to  his  coun^: 
STTwith  exemplary  candour  and  accuracy,  that  he  follows  the 
illustrious  peasant  through  aU  his  meteor-hke  course. 

oSTuslLs,  however,  is  to  foUow  the  biographer  and  critic  in 


88  Bunu'  and  Crabbers  Poetry. 

these  volames :  first  in  his  delineation  of  the  poets  life^  and  seoondlvy 
in  his  notices  of  the  new  pieces,  which  were  not  before  maae 
public. 

Robert  Bums  was  the  eldest  son  of  William  Bumess  and  Agnea 
Brown,  his  wife.     He  was  bom  on  the  25th  of  January,  1759,  in  a 
clay-built  cottage,  raised  by  his  father's  own  hands,  on  the  "banks 
of  the  Doon,  in  the  district  of  Kyle,  and  county  of  Ayr.    The  sea- 
son was  boisterous,  the  tenement  frail ;  and  some  days  after  his  birth 
it  was  crushed :  but  he  was  carried  unharmed  to  a  neighbouring 
abode.     He  was  wont  to  claim  ironically  some  commiseration  for 
his  stormy  passions  from  being  ushered  thus  into  the  world.     The 
cottage  was  rebuilt,  and  is  visited  by  thousands  annually,  who  repair 
to  Ayrshire,  chiefly  through  the  attraction  of  his  name  and  birth- 
place.    It  is  now  an  alehouse,  as  the  biographer  says,  but  such 
houses  in  Scotland  have  wine  and  spirits  of  all  kinds  at  command. 
The  landlord,  quite  a  boniface,  patronises  whisky,  but  brandy  rather, 
if  he  can  persuade  his  customers  to  call  for  it.    What  are  called 
provincially '^whisky  blossoms"  are  ripe  upon  his  nose,  and  we 
remember,  when  questioning  him,  respecting  the  convivial  propen- 
sities of  his  former  acquaintance.  Bums,  to  have  been  told,  "  he 
was  a  noble  chiel%  and  as  to  drinking  sic  another  as  mysel',  but 
ne'er  a  drunkard."    The  neighbouring  scenery  is  beautiful,  and 
rich  in  all  the  features  that  can  adorn  a  sceiie.    The  biographer 
says  there  is  nothing  verypicturesque  about  the  cottage.    We  rather 
give  it  as  our  opinion,  that  it  is  singularly  so,  now  a  days,  if  fine 
inclosures,  well  cultivated,  surrounded  with  sprightly  trees,  varied 
at  a  few  hundred  yards  distance,  by. natural  wood  clothing  the 
banks  of  the  gallant  Doon,  can  be  admitted  as  proper  features; 
modem  villas,  antique  mansions,  and  rustic  dwellings,  every  where 
intermingling  with  the  Carrick  hills  as  a  back-ground,  and  the  sea 
so  near,  that  its  wail  or  roar  is  heard. 

Bum's  mother  was  a  native  of  Ayrshire,  and  though  neither 
highborn,  nor  celebrated  for  beauty,  possessed  what  heraldry  cannot 
give,  a  happy  disposition,  healthy  aomestic  virtues,  clear  intelli- 
gence, and  deep  religious  feeling.  Her  son  resembled  her,  and  she 
lived  till  lately,  partaking  of  the  fruits  of  his  genius.  His  father 
was  from  Kincardineshire,  but  left  his  native  place,  with  a  small 
knowledge  of  farming,  and  a  large  stock  of  speculative  theology,  at 
the  age  of  nineteen.  His  resting  place  was  Doonside,  where  he  at 
length  took  a  wife,  and  built  the  frail  shealing  already  spoken  of. 
He  afterwards  leased  a  farm  close  by,  which,  after  a  stmggle,  he 
was  obliged  to  relinquish,  in  a  great  measure  through  a  ^^  stem 
fitctor,"  whose  infamy  has  been  thus  purchased  in  the  ^'  Twa  dogs." 
William  Bumess  accordingly  removed  to  Lochlea,  a  larger  and 
better  farm,  some  ten  miles  off,  in  the  parish  of  Tarbolton. 

*'  Hei-e  he  seemed  at  once  to  strike  root  and  prosper.  He  was  still 
strong  in  body,  ardent  in  mind,  and  unsubdued  in  spirit.  Every  day,  too, 
was  bringing  vigour  to  his  sons,  who,  though  mere  boys,  took  more 


Bunu^  €md  Crubbe*9  Poetry.  89 

than  their  ptoper  share  of  toil ;  while  his  wife  superintended,  with  care 
and  success,  the  whole  system  of  in-door  economy.  But  it  seemed  as  if 
fortune  had  determined  that  nought  he  set  his  heart  on  should  prosper. 
For  four  years,  indeed,  seasons  were  favourahle,  and  markets  good ;  but 
in  the  fifth  year,  there  ensued  a  change.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  laboured 
i^th  head  and  hand,  and  resolved  to  be  economical  and  saving.  In  vain 
Robert  held  the  plough  with  the  dexterity  of  a  man  by  day,  and  thrashed 
and  prepared  com  for  seed  or  for  sale,  evening  and  morning,  before  the 
sun  rose  and  after  it  set.  *'  The  gloom  of  hermits,  and  the  unceasing 
moil  of  galley  slaves,"  were  endur^  to  no  purpose ;  and,  to  crown  all,  a 
difference  arose  between  the  tenant  and  his  landlord,  as  to  terms  of  lease 
and  rotation  of  crop.  The  farmer,  a  stem  man,  self-willed  as  well 
as  devoutly  honest,  admitted  of  but  one  interpretation  to  ambiguous 
words.  The  proprietor,  accustomed  to  give  law  rather  than  receive  it, 
eicplained  them  to  his  own  advantage ;  and  the  declining  years  of  this 
g^ood  man,  and  the  early  years  of  his  eminent  son,  were  embittered  by 
disputes,  in  which  sensitive  natures  suffer  and  worldly  ones  thrive. 

*^  Amid  all  these  toils  and  trials,  William  Bumess  remembered  the 
-worth  of  religious  instruction,  and  the  usefulness  of  education  in  the 
rearing  of  his  children.  The  former  task  he  took  upon  himself,  and,  in 
Br  little  manual  of  devotion  still  extant,  sought  to  soften  the  rigour  of  the 
Calvinistic  creed  into  the  gentler  Arminian.  He  set,  too,  the  example 
which  he  taught.  He  abstained  from  all  profane  swearing  and  vain 
discourse,  and  shunned  all  approach  to  levity  of  conversation  or  behaviour. 
A  week-day  in  his  house  wore  the  sobriety  of  a  Sunday ;  nor  did  he  fail 
in  performing  family  worship  in  a  way  which  enabled  his  son  to  give 
the  world  that  fine  picture  of  domestic  devotion,  the  *'  Cottar's  Saturday 
Night.*"— pp.  6,  7. 

The  poet's  school  education^  as  all  the  world  knows^  was  defective 
and  obtained  at  starts.     But  he  was  an  apt,  and  remarkably  intel- 
ligent scholar.      The  poetry  he  met  with,  and  the  histories  of 
renowned  men,  particularly  Hannibal  and  Sir  William  Wallace,  set ' 
his  soul  on  fire. 

**  The  education  of  Bums  was  not  over  when  the  school-doors  were 
shut.  The  peasantry  of  ScoUand  turn  their  cottages  into  schools ;  and 
when  a  £Either  takes  his  arm-chair  by  the  evening  fire,  he  seldom  neglects 
to  communicate  to  his  children  whatever  knowlnige  he  possesses  himself. 
Nor  is  this  knowledge  very  limited ;  it  extends,  generally,  to  the  history 
of  Europe,  and  to  the  literature  of  the  island;  but  more  particularly  to 
the  divinity,  the  poetry,  and,  what  may  be  called,  the  traditionary  history 
of  Scotland.  An  intelligent  peasant  is  intimate  with  all  those  skirmishes, 
siei^es,  combats,  and  quarrels,  domestic  or  national,  of  which  public 
writers  take  no  account.  Genealogies  of  the  chief  families  are  quite 
fiiimHar  to  him.  He  has  by  heart,  too,  whole  volumes  of  songs  and 
ballads;  nay,  long  poems  sometimes  abide  in  his  recollection;  nor  will 
bs.think  his  knowledge  much,  unless  he  knows  a  littie  about  the  lives 
and  actions  of  the  men  who  have  done  most  honour  to  Scotland.  In 
addition  to  what  he  has  on  his  memory,  we  may  mention  what  he  has  on 
the  shelfp  A  common  husbandman  is  firequentiy  master  of  a  littie  library : 
history,  divinity,  and  poetry,  but  most  so  the  latter,  compose  his  collection. 


90  Bums*  and  Crahh'w  Poetry. 

BCilton  and  Young  are  favottrites;  the  flowery  Meditati<»i6  of  Hervey, 
th^  religious  romance  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  are  seldom  absent ;  while 
of  Seottish  books«  Ramsay,  Thomson,  Fergusson,  and  now  Boms,  toge^ 
ther  with  songs  and  ballad-books  innumerable,  are  all  huddled  together, 
soiled  with  smoke,  and  frail  and  tattered  by  frequent  use.  The  house- 
hold of  William  Bumess  was  an  example  of  what  I  have  described ;  and  • 
th^^  is  some  truth  in  the  assertion,  that  in  true  knowledge  the  Poet  was, 
at  nineteen,  a  better  scholar  than  nine-tenths  of  our  young  gentlemen 
when  they  leave  school  for  the  college. — ^pp.  10,  11. 

We  are  giving  niore  fully  the  earlier  years  of  Burns  than  our 
limits  win  allow^  were  it  not  that  the  days  of  his  highest  history 
will  be  but  slightly  dwelt  on,  because  they  are  better  known. 
There  is  another  purpose  we  have  in  view, — the  example  presented 
of  an  excellent  system  of  education,  which,  no  where  even  in  Scot- 
land, so  far  as  the  .common  people  are  concerned,  is  more  sedu- 
lously attended  to>than  in  Ayrshire  and  the  western  counties.    We 
could  be  prolific  on  this  subject,  and  always  axe  ardent.     The  ex- 
tract now  given  affords  a  fair  specimen  of  what,  to  this  day,  is  the 
economy  of  a  farmer's  fireside.     But  to  return  to  the  poet : — ^it  is 
clear  that  the  books  he  had  access  to  (which  besides  those  enume-  • 
rated  were  all  calculated  to  enlarge  his  knowledge,  or  accomphsh 
his   mind,  such  as  geographical  grammars,  agricultural  works, 
Locke  on  the  Human  Understanding,  Bodies  of  Divinity,  Pope, 
Shakespeare,  and  English  songs)  could  be  of  no  further  use  to  him, 
as  the  biographer  sa^s,  than  just  to  shew  him  what  others  had 
done,  and  to  afford  him  information.     He  took  besides,  lessons  in 
the  classic  lore  of  his  native  land  from  an  old  woman  who  resided* 
in  the  femily,  who  was  fiill  of  marvellous  tales,  and  from  the  songs 
and  ballads  which  his  mother   commonly  chaunted,  which  were 
uniformly  of  a  moral  hue ;  till  at  length  he  who  had  listened  began 
to  speak.     '^  Beauty  first  gave  utterance  to  his  crowding  thoughts ; 
with  him  love  and  poetry  were  coevals." 

*'  *•  You  know,'  he  8a3rs,  in  his  communication  to  Moore,  *  our  country 
custom  of  coupling  a  man  and  woman  together  as  partners  in  the  labours 
of  harvest.    In  my  fifteenth  autum,  my  partner  was  a  bewitching'creature, 
a  year  younger  than  myself.   My  scarcity  of  English  denies  me  the  power 
of  doing  her  justice  in  that  language  ;  but  you  know  the  Scottish  idiom, 
*  she  was  a  bonnie  sweet  sonsie  lass.'     In  short,  she  altogether,  unwit- 
tingly to  herself,  initiated  me  in  that  delicious  passion,  which,  in  spite  of  ^ 
acid  disappointment,  gin-horse  prudence,  and  bookworm- phik>80phyi, I- 
hold  to  be  the  first  of  human  joys,  our  dearest  blessing  here  below!  .How 
she  caught  the  contagion  I  cannot  tell.      You  medical  people  talk  much 
of  infection  from  breathing  the  same  air,  the  touch,  &c. ;  but  I  n^fver 
expressly  said  I  loved  her.    Indeed,  I  did  not  know  myself  why  I  liked  so 
much  to  loiter  behind  with  her,  when  returning  iti  the  eveningfrom  our 
labours — why  the  tones  of  her  voice  made  my  heairt^tnng^  tbriU  like  an. 
£olian  harp— and  particularly  why  my  pulse  beat  such  a  furious  ratan 
when  I  looked  and  fingered  over  her  little  hand  to  pick  out  the  cniel 
nettle  stings  and  thistles.    Among  her  other  love-inspiring  qualities,  she . 
sang  sweetly ;  and  it  was  her  favourite  reel  to  which  I  attempted  giving 


Acmr*  and  Crabbe'i  Poetry,  91 

an  embodied  vehicle  in  rhyme.  I  was  not  so  presumptuous  as  to  imagine 
that  I  could  make  verses  like  printed  ones,  composed  by  men  who  had 
Greek  and  Latin ;  but  my  girl  sung  a  song  which  was  said  to  be  composed 
by  a  country  laird's  son  on  one  of  his  father's  maids  with  whom  he  was  in 
love;  and  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  might  not  rhyme  as  well  as  h&*-for, 
excepting  that  he  could  smear  sheep  and  <!ast  peats,  his  father  jiving  in 
the  moorlands,  he  had  no  more  scholar  craft  than  myself.  Thus  with  me 
b^pan  love  and  poetry.'  *'*— pp.  l6, 16.  ' 

One  other  extract  will  complete  all  that  we  can  give,  and  indeed 
tbe  great  lending  ^inls  'in  the  groundwork  education  of  this  singu- 
larly shrewd,  deep-passioned,  and  reckless  man. 

«**  The  willro'-wisp  inetdors  of  thoughtless  whim  *  liegan,  he  says,  to 
be  almost  the  sole  lights  of  his  way^  yet  early-ingrained  piety  preserved 
his  innocence,  though  it  coul^  not  keep  him  from  folly.  *  The  great  mis- 
fortime  of  my  life,'  he  wisely  says,  *  was  to  want  an  aim.  The  ony  two 
openings  by  which  I  could  enter  the  temple  of"  fortune  was  the  gate  of 
niggardly  economy,  or  the  path  of  little  chicaning  bargain  making.  The 
first  is  so  contracted  an  aperture,  I  never  cotild  squeeze  myself  into  it; 
the  last  I  always  hated — ^there  was  contamination  in  the  very  entrance. 
Thus  abandoned  of  aim  or  view  in  life,  with  a  strong  appetite  for  socia- 
biliW,  as  well  f5rom  native  hilarity  as  from  a  pride  of  observation  and  re- 
mark— a  constitutional  melancholy  or  hypochondriasm  that  made  me  fly 
solitude;  add  to  these  incentives  to  social  life,  my  reputation  for  bookish 
knowledge,  a  certain  wild  logical  talent,  and  a  strength  of  thought  some- 
thing like  the  rudiments  of  good  sense ;  and  it  will  not  seem  surprising 
that  I  was  generally  a  welcome  guest  where  I  visited ;  or  any  great  won- 
der that  where  two  or  three  met  together,  there  was  I  among  them. 
Another  circumstance  in  my  life,  which  made  some  alteration  in  my  mind 
and  manners,  was,  that  I  spent  my  nineteenth  summer  on  a  smuggling 
coast,  a  good  distance  from  home,  at  a  noted  school  to  learn  mensura- 
tion, surveying,  dialling,  &c.,  in  which  I  made  pretty  good  progress.  But 
I  made  greater  progress  in  the  knowledge  of  mankind.  The  contraband 
trade  was  at  that  time  very  successful,  and  it  sometimes  happened  to  me 
to  fall  in  with  those  who  carried  it  on.  Scenes  of  swaggering  riot  and 
roaring  dissipation  were  till  this  time  new  to  me;  but  I  was  no  enemy  to 
social  life.  Here,  though  I  learnt  to  fill  my  glass  and  to  mix  without 
fear  in  a  drunken  squabble,  yet  I  went  on  with  a  high  hand  with  my  geo- 
metry till  the  sun  entered  Virgo — a  month  which  is  always  a  carnival  in 
my  bosom — when  a  charming  jBlatte,  who  lived  next  to  the  school,  upset 
my  trigonometry,  and  set  me  off  at  a  tangent  from  the  sphere  of  my 
studies.*" — ^pp.  17»  18- 

The  biographer  has  added  to  this  account  what  the  poet  gives  of 
himself,  some  beautiful  and  touching  passages ;  which>  a^  ux  .very 
many  parts  of  the  work,  seem  to  come  from  a  bosom  thlat  has  intensely 
sympathi^  with  him,;  in  all  that  is  said*  When  about  his^  twenty- 
second  year,  Burna  betoo^L  himself  to  flax-dressing,  .to  aid  his 
&ther'8  schemes,  a  most  uncongenial  puriluit,  oomparedjto  the  labours 
of  the  field,  which  we  have  in  a  fine  letter  to  his  honoured  parent, 
a  new  aspect  of  the  poet's  mind,  quite  distinct  from  those  given  in 
any  pert  of  what  we  call  his  education.    He  had  gone  to  the  Burgh 


92  Bumi^  and  Crabb^s  Poehy* 

of  Irvine  to  work  as  a  flax-dresser,  where.  Dr.  Currie  says,  he 
possessed  a  single  room  for  his  lodging,  rented,  perhaps,  at  the 
rate  of  a  shilling  a  week ;  and  his  food  consisted  chiefly  of  oatmeal. 
After  quotmg  his  letter,  we  must  run  forward  with  the  remainder 
of  the  life,  at  a  very  different  pace  than  hitherto.  But  really  his 
epistolary  writings  are  so  energetic  and  tender,  that  it  is  widi  re* 
Ittctance  one  can  leave  them  behind.  They  are  sometimes  only 
surpassed  by  his  poetry. 

'*  He  thus  wrote  to  his  father:  'Honoured  Sir:— I  have  purposely 
delayed  writing,  in  the  hope  that  I  should  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  on  New-year's  day :  but  work  comes  so  hard  upon  us  that  I  do  not 
choose  to  be  absent  on  that  account.  My  health  is  nearly  the  same  as 
when  you  were  here,  only  my  sleep  is  a  little  sounder,  and  on  the  whole 
I  am  rather  better  than  otherwise,  though  I  mend  by  very  slow  degrees. 
The  weakness  of  my  nerves  has  so  debilitated  my  mind  that  I  dare 
neither  review  past  wants,  nor  look  forward  into  futurity :  for  the  least 
anxiety  or  perturbation  in  my  breast  produces  most  unhappy  effects  on 
my  whole  frame.  Sometimes,  indeed,  when  for  an  hour  or  two  my 
spirits  are  a  little  lightened,  I  glimmer  a  little  into  futurity;  but  my 
principal,  and  indeed  my  only  pleasurable  employment,  is  looking  back* 
wards  and  forwards  in  a  moral  and  religious  way.  I  am  quite  trans- 
ported at  the  thought  that  ere  long,  perhaps  very  soon,  I  shall  bid  an 
eternal  adieu  to  all  the  pains,  and  uneasinesses,  and  disquietudes  of  this 
weary  life ;  for  I  assure  you,  I  am  heartily  tired  of  it :  and,  if.  I  do  not 
very  much  deceive  mpelf,  I  could  contentedly  and  gladly  resign  it. 

**  *  As  for  this  world,*  he  continues,  *  I  despair  of  ever  making  a  figure 
in  it.    I  am  not  formed  for  the  bustle  of  the  busy,  nor  the  flutter  of  the 

y.  I  shall  never  again  be  capable  of  entering  into  such  scenes.  In- 
eed,  I  am  altogether  unconcerned  at  the  thoughts  of  this  life.  I  foresee 
that  poverty  and  obscurity  probably  await  me,  and  I  am  in  some  measure 
prepared,  and  daily  preparing,  to  meet  them.  I  have  but  just  time  and 
paper  to  return  you  my  grateful  thanks  for  the  lessons  of  virtue  and  piety 
you  have  given  me,  which  were  too  much  neglected  at  the  time  of  giving 
them,  but  which  I  hope  have  been  remembered  ere  it  is  yet  too  late.* " — 
pp.  22, 23.' 

The  death  of  the  poet's  £Either,  the  burning  of  the  flax-dressing 

S remises,  the  joint  tenancy  with  Ins  brother  Gilbert  of  the  farm  of 
f  ossgiel,  must  be  passed  over.  For  'as  the  biographer  says,  we 
are  now  to  enter  into  the  regions  of  romance ;  the  romance,  we 
add,  of  love  and  poetic  inspiration ;  the  great  business  of  Bums' 
life,  and  which  Mr.  Cunningham  has  handled  with  a  master's 
power,  nay,  a  brother's  art.  Faithful  to  his  task,  he  has  also 
touched  *^  on  the  moral  sores  of  so  fine  a  genius,"  without  which 
his  character  cannot  be  understood.  We  coincide  with  the  bio- 
grapher, when  he  says,  that  Bums  was  '^  no  practised  toper,  but 
thought  it  necessary  to  look  a  gay  fellow  in  poetry !"  this  at  least 
held  tme  of  him,  after  he  had  often  sung  the  pleasures  of  the 
bowl.  '^  But  liquor  was  not  then,  and  I  believe  never  was,  a  settled 
desire  of  soul  with  the  poet,"  says  Mr.  Cunningham,  with  which 


det 


Amu*  and  Cntbbe*$  Poeity.  98 

we  aba  agree.  Of  his  profene  verses  and  pieces  connected  witb  a 
controveTsy  amongst  the  theologians  of  the  west  of  Scotland^  we 
will  not  say  more  than  that  they  added  as  little  to  the  good  name 
of  the  poet  as  they  did  to  the  party  they  served. 

When  twenty-three  years  of  age.  Bums  had  taken  his  station  as 
a  man  in  society,  and  was  courted  hy  all  within  his  provincial  cir- 
cle, who  had  any  relish  for  vdt,  or  soul  for  poetry.  We  are  told, 
speaking  of  this  time,  that  he  was  distinguished  by  large  dark 
expressive  eyes,  swarthy  visage,  broad  brow,  shadea  with  black 
curly  hair;  melancholy  look,  and  well-knit  frame,  vigorous  and 
active.  He  afiected,  too,  a  certain  oddity  of  dress  and  manner. 
He  was  clever  in  controversy,  but  obstinate,  and  ever  fierce,  when 
contradicted,  as  most  men  are,  who  have  built  np  their  opinions 
for  themselves.  But  the  greatest  part  of  his  history  is  to  be  found 
in  bis  compositions^  in  which  he  poured' out  all  the  loves,  the  cares, 
the  sorrows,  the  joys,  the  hopes  and  fears  of  the  passing  moment ; 
and  to  such  a  record  we  must  chiefly  refer. 

The  £Eulure  of  the  farm  undertaking  at  Mossgiel,  the  resolution 
of  going  out  as  a  sort  of  steward  to  the  plantations,  and  the  pas« 
sages  of  tenderness  and  sorrow  between  Jean  Armour  and  him, 
must  be  learnt  from  the  work  before  us,  by  a  direct  perusal  of  it. 
The  publication  of  some  of  his  earliest  and  best  pieces,  which  took 
place  at  this  critical  period,  gave  a  total  turn  to  his  fortunes  and 
prospects.  To  Scotland  at  large,  "  the  rising  of  a  July  sun  on  a 
December  morning,  could  not  have  given  greater  surprise,  than  did 
the  first  published  poems  of  the  bard  of  Ayrshire.  High  and  low 
were  enchanted  by  them ;  and  they  were  the  means  of  preventing 
him  setting  foot  on  board  the  vessel  at  Greenock,  whither  he  had 
gone  to  bid  fiffeweU  to  Scotland.  A  copy  of  them  had  reached 
Dr.  Blacklock,  a  poet  of  some  note,  who  resided  in  Edinburgh, 
and  the  doctor's  warm  approbation  of  their  merits,  and  strongly 
expressed  desire  for  the  welfare  of  the  young  author,  having  reached 
Bums  just  in  time  to  prevent  his  setting  sail,  drew  him  to  Edin- 
burgh, which  Mr.  Cunningham  considers  the  commencement  of 
the  second  era  of  the  bard's  life.  . 

In  Edinburgh,  rank,  fashion  and  genius,  conspired  to  do  him 
himoiir ;  a  large  edition  of  his  poems  was  sold,  and  his  name  raised 
to  the  highest  place  among  modem  poets. 

••How  he  appeared  in  the  sight  of  others,  Dugald  Stewart  has  told  us. 
'He  came,'  says  the  Professor,  •  to  Edinburgh  early  in  the  winter:  the 
attentions  which  he  received  during  his  stay  in  town  from  all  ranks  and 
descriptions  of  persons,  was  such  as  would  have  turned  any  head  but  his 
Gvn.  I  cannot  saytthat  I  could  perceive  any  un&vourable  effect  which 
they  left  on  his  mind.  He  retained  the  ^ame  simplicity  of  manners  and 
i^ipearaQce  which  had  struck  me  so  forcibly  when  I  first  saw  him  in  the 
country ;  nor  did  he  seem  to  feel  any  additional  self-importance  from  the 
number  and  rank  of  his  new  acquaintance.  His  dress  was  perfectly  suited 
to  his  station — ^plain  and  unpretending,  with  sufficient  attention  to  neat- 


d4  Bitnu*  and  Crabb^'s  Poetry. 

Bess.  If  I  reCfc^lect  rigbt>  he  always  wore  boots ;  and  when  on  more 
than  usiiaI  ceremony,  bucksldn-breeches.  His  manners  were  t^en,  as 
they  conturaed  ^ver  ajfterwaids,  simple,  manly,  and  independent ;  strongly 
expressive  of  conscious  genius  and  worth,  but  without  any  thing  tibat 
indicated ,  forwardness,  arrogance,  or  vanity.  He  took  his  share  in  con- 
versatioiii,  but  not  more  than  belonged  to  him ;  and  listened,  with  apparent 
attention  and  deference  on  subjects  where  his  want  of  education  deprived 
him  of  the  means  of  information.  If  there  had  been  a  little  more  of  gen- 
tleness and  accommodation  in  his  temper,  he  would,  I  think,  have  been 
still  mote  interesting ;  but  he  had  been  accustomed  to  give  law  in  the 
circle  of  his  ordinary  acquaintance,  and  his  dread  of  anything  approaching 
to  meanness  or  servility  rendered  his  manner  somewhat  decided  and 
hard.  Nothing,  perhaps,  was  more  remarkable,  among  his  various  attain- 
mente,  than  the  fluency,  and  precision,  and  originality  of  his  language 
when  he  spoke  in  company;  more  particularly  aa  he  aimed  at  purity  m 
his  turn  of  expilession,  and  avoided  more  successfully  than  most  Scotch- 
man the  peeuliarities  of  Scottish  phraseology." — pp.  119—^121. 

But  the  career  ofBurns  in  Edinburgh,  and  the  habits  there  ac- 

auiredy  are  well  known.  The  various  tours  into  distant  parts  of 
iie  kingdbm,  to  the  Borders  and  to  the  Highlands,  which  the  poet 
made,  have  often  been  described.  He  hin^elf  kept  a  memoran* 
dum-book,  in  which  he  noted  down  whatever  particularly  struck 
him.  But  this  book  was  caitied  away  from  his  lodgings  by  a  visi- 
tor, who  reftised  to  Restore  it,  and  it  was  lost.  At  last  he  turned 
his  steps  westward.  He. had  found  the  illustrious  of  hia  native 
land  had  the  carcase  of  greatness,  but  wanted  the  soul ;  they  gave 
him  dinners,  and  subscribed  for  his  poems,  and  looked  on  their 
g6nero6ity  as  ^^  an  alms  coald  keep  a  god  alive."  The  thoughts  of 
home,  of  a  settled  purpose  in  life,  afforded  him  a  solace  such  as  he 
had  never  before  known.  He  reached  Mauchline  not  a  moment 
too  soon.  The  intercourse  which  in  his  visits  to  Ayrshire  he  had, 
in  the  coimpe  of  the  bygone  months,  renewed  with  Jean  Arinomr, 
exposed  her  once  more  to  the  reproaches  of  her  family ;  ajid  on  his 
arrival  he  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  was  married  according  to  the 
lawd  of  his  country. 

Mr.  Cunningham's  third  era  of  Bum*s  life  commences  in  1788, 
when  he  made  his  appearance  as  a  farmer  in  Nithdale,  six  miles 
above  Dumfries.  This  is  not  only  the  last  but  the  most  afiectiiig 
division  of  the  illustrious  peasant's  history ;  and  the  biogr2q>her  has 
done  more  foi;  it,  so  £ax  as  new  matter  has  been  given,  than  for 
the  former  periods.  We  shall  select  a  few  of  the  most  striking  parts 
of  what  to  ua  is  original,  for  quotatiyn.  We  are  not  going  to  follow 
the  iMid  success  attending  his  forming  of  Ellisland,  nor  rail  alKmt 
kis  appointment  to  an  exciseman's  office,  which  he  himself  seems 
to  have  considered  no  bad  thing  as  times  and  things  were.  One 
thing  is  clearly  established,  that  he  acquitted  himself  diligently  but 
gently  in  his  public  vocation.  Against  the  regular  smuggler  his 
looks  were  stem  and  his  hand  was  heavy,  while  to  the  poor  coun- 
try dealer  he  was  lenient. 


Burntt  imd  CrMe*9  P0etty,  95 

**  Tbe  Poet  and  a  brother  exdaeman  onc^  day  suddenly  entered  a 
widow  woman's  shop  m  Dunscore,  and  made  a  seizure  of  smuggled 
tobacco. — *^  Jenny,"  said  the  Poet,  "  I  expected  this  would  be  the  upshot; 
here,  Lewars,  take  note  of  the  number  of  rolls  as  I  count  them.  Now^ 
Jock,  did  you  ever  hear  an  auldwife  numbering  her  threads  before 
check-reels  were  invented  ?  Thou's  ane,  and  thou's  no  ane,  and  thou's 
ane  a'  out — ^listen."  As  he  handed  out  the  rolls,  he  went  on  with  his 
humorous  enumeration,  but  dropping  every  other  roll  into  Janet's  lap. 
Lewars  took  the  desired  note  with  much  gravity,  and  saw  as  if  he  saw 
not  the  merciful  conduct  of  his  companion.  Another  information  had 
been  lodged  against  a  widow  who  kept  a  small  public-house  in  Thomhill ; 
it  was  a  fair  day — hef  house  was  crowded — ^Bums  came  suddenly  to  the 
back  door  and  said,  *'  Kate,  are  ye  mad ; — the  supervisor  and  me  will  be 
in  on  ye  in  half  an  hour  I"  This  merciful  hint— out  of  which  a  very 
serious  charge  might  be  made — saved  the  poor  woman  from  ruin." 
—p.  234. 

It  was  not  long  after  he- became  an  exciseman  that  be  wrote  the 
poem  of  The  Wounded  Hare ;  and  he  has  described  the  circum- 
stances under  which  it  was  composed.  The  biographer  had  the 
account  confirmed  by  James  Thomson^  the  son  of  a  neighbouring 
farmer-     Thus — 

*•  I  remember  Burns,**  said  he,  "  weel ;  I  have  some  cause  to  mind 
Mm — he  used  to  walk  in  the  twilight  along  the  side  of  the  Nith,  near  the 
march,  between  his  land  and  ours.  Once  1  shot  at  a  hare  that  was  busy 
on  our  braird ;  she  ran  bleeding  past  Bums ;  he  cursed  me,  and  ordered 
me  out  of  his  sight,  else  he  would  throw  me  into  the  water.  I'm  told  he 
has  written  a  poem  about  it." — "  Aye,  that  he  has,"  I  replied ;  '*  but  do 
you  think  he  would  have  thrown  you  into  the  Nith  ?" — **  Thrown  I  aye 
I'U  warrant  would  be,  though  1  was  baith  young  and  strong."  He  sub- 
mitted the  poem-M^iertainly  not  one  of  his  best — ^to  Dr.  Gregory ;  the 
result  scar^  him  from  consulting  in  future  professional  critics. — ^*  I 
believe,"  he  said,  "in  the  iron  justice  of  Dr.  Gregory;  but  1  believe 
and  tremble."  Such  criticisms  tend  to  crush  the  spirit  out  of  man." — 
pp.  235, 236. 

His  Mary  in  Heaven,  one  of  his  loftiest  lyrics,  was  written  un- 
der circumstances  that  pressed  painfiiUy  on  the  mind  of  his  wife. 

"Robert,"  she  saicL  "  though  ill  of  a  cold,  had  busied  himself  all  day 
with  the'  shearers  in  trie  field,  and,  as  he  had  got  much  of  the  crop  in,  was 
hi  capital  spirits.  But  when  the  gloaming  came,  he  grew  sad  about 
something— *he  could  nt>t  rest.  He  wandered  first  up  the  water-side,  and 
then  went  to  the  barn-yard ;  and  I  followed  him,  begging  him  to  come 
in,  as  he  was  ill,  and  the  air  was  cold  and  sharp.  He  always  promised, 
but  still  remained  where  he  was,  striding  up  and  down,  and  looking  at 
the  clear  sky,  and  particularly  at  a  star  that  shone  like  another  moon. 
He  then  threw  himself  down  on  some  loose  sheaves,  still  continuing  to 
gaze  at  the  star.  When  he  came  in  he  seemed  deeply  dejected,  and.  sat 
down  and  wrote  the  first  verse : — 


«« 


Thou  lingering  star,  with  lessening  ray. 
That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  mom, 


96  Bmma*  tmd  €raiU$  Bctiry. 

Agam  thou  usherest  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  bouI  was  torn. 
OMary!  dear  departed  shade  I 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hearest  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast*' 

Bums  met  Grose  the  antiquarian  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Riddel,  of 
Friars-carse,  and  in  talking  about  the  antiquities  of  Scotland,  he 
begged  of  Grose  that  he  would  introduce  Alloway  Kirk  into  his 
projected  work ;  and  to  fix  the  subject  in  his  mind,  related  some  of 
the  wild  stories  with  which  Scotland  abounds. 

".  The  antiquarian  listened  to  them  all,  and  then  said,  *  Write  a  poem 
on  it,  and  I'll  put  in  the  verses  with  an  engraving  of  the  ruin.'  Bums 
set  his  muse  to  work ;  he  could  hardly  sleep  for  the  spell  that  was  upon 
him,  and  with  his  '  barmy  noddle  working  prime,'  walked  out  to  his 
fiivourite  path  along  the  river-bank. 

«« «  Tam  O'Shanter '  was  the  work  of  a  single  day ;  the  name  was  taken 
from  the  furm  of  Shanter  in  Kyle,  the  story  firom  tradition.  Mrs.  Bums 
relates,  that  observing  Robert  walking  with  long  swinging  sort  of  strides 
and  apparently  muttering  as  he  went,  she  let  him  alone  for  some  time ;  at 
length  she  took  the  children  with  her  and  went  forth  to  meet  him;  he 
seemed  not  to  observe  her,  but  continued  his  walk ;  '  on  this,'  said  she,  *  I 
stept  aside  with  the  bairns  among  the  broom — and  past  us  he  came,  \us 
brow  flushed  and  his  eyes  shining ;  he  was  reciting  these  lines  : — 

*  Now  Tam  1  O  Tam  1  had  thae  been  queans, 
A'  plump  and  strapping  in  their  teens, 
Their  sarks,  instead  o'  creshie  flannen. 
Been  snaw- white  seventeen  hunder  linen  I 
Thir  breeks  o'mine  my  only  pair. 
That  ance  were  plush,  o'  gude  blue  hair, 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  them  aff  my  hurdles ! 
For  ae  biink  o'  the  bonoy  burdies !' 

I  wish  ye  had  but  seen  him  I  he  was  in  such  ecstasy  that  the  tears  were 
happing  down  his  cheeks.'  The  poet  had  taken  writing  materials  with 
him,  and  leaning  on  a  turf  fence  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  river, 
he  committed  the  poem  to  paper,  walked  home,  and  read  it  in  great 
triumph  at  the  fire-side.  It  came  complete  and  perfect  from  his  fancy  at 
the  first  heat , — ^no  other  work  in  the  language  contains  such  wondrous 
variety  of  genius  in  the  same  number  of  lines.  His  own  account  of  his 
rapture  in  composition  confirms  the  description  of  Mrs.  Bums  :— '  I 
seized,'  said  he  to  a  correspondent,  *  my  gilt-head  Wangee  rod  in  my  lef^ 
hand — an  instrument  indispensably  necessary — in  the  moment  of  inspi- 
ration and  rapture,  and  stride,  stride,  quicker  and  quicker, — out  skipt  I 
among  the  broomy  babks  of  the  Nith  to  muse.' " — pp.  245, 246. 

We  consider  Tam  O'Shanter  the  most  perfect  poem  Bums  has 
written,  and  he  seems  so  to  have  thought  of  it  himself. 

*'  He  carried  it  in  his  pocket,  and  read  it  willingly  to  those  in  whose 
taste  he  had  any  trust.  He  read  it  to  my  father.  His  voice  was  deep, 
manly,  and  melodious,  and  his  eye  sparkled  as  he  saw  the  effect  of  his 
poem  on  all  around — ^young  and  old.    A  writer,  who  happened  to  be 


Bmrns^  aniCrvbbe' 9  Poetry.  97 

present  on  businesB,  stung,  perhape^  with  that  sarcastic  touch  on  the 
brethren — 

*  Three  lawyers'  tongues  turn'd  inside  out 
With  lies  seam'd  like  a  beggar's  clout.' 
remarked,  that  he  thought  the  language  describing  the  witches'  orgies 
obscure.     '  Obscure,  sir !'  said  Bums,  *  ye  know  not  the  language  of  that 
great  master  of  youy  own  heart — the  devil.     If  you  get  a  witch,  for  a 
client,  you  will  not  be  able  to  manage  her  defence  I'  " — p.  249. 

Our  limits  advertise  us  that  we  must  proceed  to  a  short  notice 
of  the  poems  that  are  for  the  first  time  made  public  in  this  edition. 
It  generaUy  happens  that  the  pieces  which  are  scraped  together  by 
industrious  editors  to  swell  tbe  already  published  works  of  cele- 
brated authors  seldom  enlarge  their  fame,  or  call  for  deep  regret 
that  they  should  have  long  lain  undiscovered.     In  the  present  in- 
stance, however,  although  the  numerous  additional  poems  to  those 
that  appeared  in  Currie  s  edition  cannot  confer  on  Burns  any  con- 
siderable celebrity  above  that  which  in  truth  was  before  unlimited, 
they  do  nevertheless  bear  the  "  true  Bums  stamp,"  and  still  fiir- 
ther  illustrate  the  versatility,  depth,  strength,  and  tenderness  of  his 
genius.     The  first  that  we  shall  notice  was  addressed  to  Major  Lo- 
gan, who  lived  near  Ayr ;  he  was  a  first-rate  performer  on  the  vio- 
Kn,  and  not  a  little  of  a  wit.     It  is  in  the  form  of  an  epistle,  which 
the  poet  often  embraced,  and  on  which  he  would,  in  the  easiest  style, 
hang  any  number  of  incidents  and  sentiments.    As  the  editor  says, 
several  of  the  stanzas  resemble  passages  that  have  been  long  be- 
fore the  public;  but  still  it  has  a  spirit  of  its  own. 

*'  Epistle  to  Major  Logan. 
Hail,  thairm-inspirin',  rattlin'  Willie! 
Though  fortune's  road  be  rough  an'  hilly 
To  every  fiddling,  rhyming  biliie. 

We  never  heed. 
But  take  it  like  the  unbacked  filly. 

Proud  o'  her  speed. 
When  idly  goavan  whyles  we  saunter 
Yirr,  fancy  barks,  awa'  we  canter 
Uphill,  down  brae,  till  some  mishanter. 

Some  black  bog-hole. 
Arrests  us,  then  the  scathe  an'  banter 

We're  forced  to  thole. 
Hale  be  your  heart !  Hale  be  your  fiddle ; 
Lang  may  your  elbuck  jink  and  diddle. 
To  cheer  you  through  the  weary  widdle 

O' this  wild  warl'. 
Until  you  on  a  crummock  driddle 

A  gray  hair'd  carl. 
Come  wealth,  come  poortith,  late  or  soon 
Heaven  send  your  heart-strings  ay  in  tune,. 
And  screw  your  temper  pins  aboon 

A  fifth  or  mair. 
The  melancholious,  lazie  croon 

O'  cankrie  care. 

VOL.  III.    (1834.)  NO.  I.  '  H 


98  Bums^  and  Crabht's  Poetry. 

May  still  your  life  from  day  to  day 
Nae'  '*  lente  largo  "  in  the  play, 
But "  allegretto  forte  "  gay 

Harmonious  flow 
A  sweeping,  kindling,  bauld  strathspey — 

Encore;  Bravo! 
A  blessing  on  the  cheery  gang 
Wha  dearly  like  a  jig  or  sang. 
An'  never  think  o'  right  an'  wrang 

By  square  an'  rule, 
But  as  the  cleg^  o'  feeling  stang 

Are  wise  or  fool. 
My  hand- waled  curse  keep  hard  in  chase 
The  harpy,  hoodock,  purse-proud  race, 
Wha  count  on  poortith  as  disgrace — 

Their  timeless  hearts  \ 
May  fireside  discords  jar  a  base 

To  a'  their  parts ! 
But  come,  your  hand,  my  careless  brither, 
rth'  ither  warl'  if  there's  anither. 
An*  that  there  is  I've  little  swither 

About  the  matter; 
We  cheek  for  chow  shall  jog  thegither, 

I'se  ne'er  bid  better. 
We've  faults  and  failings — ^granted  clearly. 
We're  frail  backsliding  mortals  merely, 
Eve*s  bonny  squad  priests  wyte  them  sheerly 

For  our  grand  fa* ; 
But  still,  but  still,  I  like  them  dearly — 

God  bless  them  a'  I 
Ochon  for  poor  Castalian  drinkers, 
When  they  fa'  foul  o'  earthly  jinkers. 
The  witching  curs'd  delicious  blinkers 

Hae  put  me  byte. 
And  gart  me  weet  my  waukrife  winkers, 

Wi'  gaman  spite. 
But  by  yon  moon ! — and  that's  high  swcarin'- 
An*^  every  star  within  my  hearin'Y — 
An'  by  her  een  wha  was  a  dear  ane ! 

I'll  ne'er  forget; 
I  hope  to  gie  the  jads  a  clearin' 

In  fair  play  yet. 
My  loss  I  mourn,  but  not  repent  it, 
I'll  seek  my  pursie  whare  I  tint  it, 
Ance  to  the  Indies  I  were  wonted. 

Some  cantraip  hour. 
By  some  sweet  elf  I'll  yet  be  dinted, 

Then,  vive  Pammir! 
Fcdtes  mes  bcdssemains  respeotueuse^ 
To  sentimental  sister  Susie, 
An'  honest  Lucky;  no  to  roose  you, 

-  Ye  may  be  proud. 


Bmu*  mi  Crabbe's  Poetry.  $9 

That  sic  a  couple  fate  allows  ;e 

To  grace  your  blood* 
Nae  mair  at  preseut  can  I  measure, 
An'  trowth  my  rhymin'  waxe'e  nae  treasure ; 
But  when  in  Ayr,  some  half-hour's  leisure, 

Be't  light,  be't  dark, 
Sir  Bard  will  do  himself  the  pleasure* 

To  call  at  Park."— pp.  9—12. 

Bums'  shorter  poems  do  not  bear  to  be  mangled.  We  must, 
therefore^  in  extracting  newly  published  pieces^  select  a  few  of  the 
shortest — ^from  his  epigrams.  He  is  the  author  of  many ;  ^'  they 
are  sharp  and  personal,  and  partake  of  the  character  of  the  naturd 
rather  than  the  artificial  man.  He  grapples  at  once  with  his  enemy, 
and  prostrates  him,  not  so  much  by  science  as  by  robust  strength." 
To  this  just  criticism,  the  editor,  with  equal  regard  to  truth,  adds, 
'^  his  wit  sometimes  inclines  to  the  promne,  and  his  humour  deals 
too  much  in  scriptural  allusions." 

"  The  Kirk  of  Latndnaton. 
As  caul4  a  wind  as  ever  blew, 
A  caulder  kirk,  and  in't  but  few; 
As  cauld  a  minister's  e'er  spak, 
Ye*se  a'  be  het  ere  I  come  back. 
"  The  poet  was  stopped  by  a  storm  once  in  Clydesdale,  and  on  Sunday 
went  to  Lamiagton  Kirk  :  the  day  was  so  rough,  the  kirk  so  cold,  and 
the  sermon  so  little  to  his  liking,  that  he  left  his  poetic  protest  on  the 
window." 

*'  Inseripticn  on  a  Goblet. 
There's  death  in  the  cup — sae  beware  I 

Nay,  more — ^there  is  danger  in  touching ; 
But  wha  can  avoid  the  fell  snare  ? 

The  man  and  his  wine's  sae  bewitching ! 

^  One  day  after  dinner,  at  Ryedale,  Bums  wrote  these  lines  on  a  goblet 
with  his  diamond.  Syme  would  seem  to  have  been  less  affected  with  the 
compliment  than  with  defacing  his  crystal  service,  for  he  threw  the  goblet 
behind  the  fire.  We  are  not  told  what  the  Poet  thought;  but  it  is  said 
that  Brown,  the  clerk  of  '  Stamp-office  Johnny,'  snatched  the  goblet  out 
of  the  fire  uninjured,  and  kept  it  as  a  relique  till  his  death." 

"  The  Toad-eater. 
What  of  earls  with  whom  you  have  supt. 

And  of  dukes  that  you  dined  with  yestreen  ? 
Lord  I  a  louse.  Sir,  is  still  but  a  louse. 
Though  it  crawl  on  the  curls  of  a  queen. 
"  At  the  table  of  Maxwell  of  Terraughty,  when  it  was  the  pleasure  of 
one  of  the  guests  to  talk  only  of  dukes  with  whom  he  had  drank,  and  of 
earls  with  whom  he  had  dined.  Bums  silenced  him  with  this  epigram." 

'*The  Selkirk  Grace. 
Some  hae  meat  and  canna  eat, 

And  some  wad  eat  that  want  it. 
But  we  hae  meat  and  we  can  eat. 
And  sae  the  Lord  be  thanket. 

h2 


1 00  Bums*'  and  Crabbers  P<tetry, 

•'  On  a  visit  to  St.  Mary*s  Isle,  the  Earl  of  Selkirk  requested  Buma  to 
say  grace  at  dinner.  These  were  the  words  he  uttered — they  were 
applauded  then,  and  have  since  heen  known  in  Galloway  hy  the  name  of 
'  The  Selkirk  Grace/  "—pp.  302--311. 

What  a  contrast  do  the  following  epitaphs  present  ? — 

**0n  tke  Poefs  Daughter. 
Here  lies  a  rose,  a  hudding  rose. 

Blasted  before  its  bloom ; 
Whose  innocence  did  sweets  disclose 

Beyond  that  flower's  perfume. 
To  those  who  for  her  loss  are  gnev'd, 

This  consolation's  given — 
She's  from  a  world  of  woe  relieved. 
And  blooms  a  rose  in  heaven. 
•♦  These  tender  and  affecting  lines  were  written,  it  is  said,  on  the  death 
of  the  Poet's  daughter,  in  1795.     He  loved  the  child  dearly,  and  mourned 
her  loss  with  many  tears.     His  own  health  was  giving  ws]r-^he  was 
fading  before  his  time." 

"On  a  Suicide, 
Earth'd  up  here  lies  an  imp  o'hell. 

Planted  by  Satan's  dibble- 
Poor  silly  wretch,  he's  damn'd  himsel' 
To  save  the  Lord  the  trouble. 
**  A  melancholy  person  of  the  name  of  Glendinning  having  taken  away 
his  own  life,  was  interred  at  a  place  called  *The  Old  Chapel,*  close 
beside  Dumfries.     My  friend.  Dr.  Copland  Hutchinson,  happened  to  be" 
walking  out  that  way:  he  saw  Bums  with  his  foot  on  the  grave,  his  hat 
on  his  knee,  and  paper  laid  on  his  hat,  on  which  he  was  writing.     He 
then  took  the  paper,  thrust  it  with  his  finger  into  the  red  mould  of  the 
grave,  and  went  away.    This  was  the  above  epigram,  and  such  was  ^e 
Poet's  mode  of  publishing  it."-— pp.  312-*-317* 

We  give  the  last  scene  of  the  great  poet's  life  as  given  by  Cun^ 
ningham. 

^  His  interment  took  place  on  the  25th  of  July ;  nor  should  it  be  for- 
gotten, in  relating  the  Poet's  melancholy  story,  that,  while  his  body  was 
borne  along  the  street,  his  widow  was  taken  in  labour  and  delivered  of  a 
son,  who  survived  his  birth  but  a  short  while.  The  leading  men  of  the 
town  and  neighbourhood  appeared  as  mourners ;  the  streets  were  lined 
by  the  Angushire  Fencibles  and  the  Cinque  Ports  Cavalry,  and  his 
body  was  borne  by  the  Volunteers  to  the  old  kirk-yard,  with  military 
honours.  The  multitude  who  followed  amounted  to  many  thousands. 
It  was  an  impressive  and  a  mournful  sight ;  all  was  orderly  and  decorous. 
The  measured  steps,  the  military  array,  the  colours  displayed,  and  the 
muffled  drum- — I  thought  then,  and  think  now — ^had  no  connexion  with 
a  Pastoral  Bard.  I  mingled  with  the  mourners.  On  reaching  the  grave 
into  which  the  Poet's  body  was  about  to  descend,  there  was  a  pause 
among  them,  as  if  loth  to  part  "v^ith  his  remains;  and  when  the  first 
shovel-full  of  earth  sounded  on  the  coffin  lid,  I  looked  up,  and  saw  tears 
on  many  cheeks  where  tears  were  not  usual.  The  Volunteera  justified 
the  surmise  of  Bums  by  three  ragged  and  straggling  vollies;  the  earth 
was  heaped  up,  and  the  vast  multitude  melted  silently  away. 


Bums'  and  Crabbers  Poetry.  101 

**  Tbe  body  of  Bums  was  not,  however*  to  remain  long  in  its  place. 
To  suit  the  plan  of  a  rather  showy  mausoleum,  his  remains  were  removed 
into  a  more  commodious  spot  of  the  same  kirk-yard,  on  the  5th  of  June, 
1815.  The  coffin  was  partly  dissolved  away ;  but  the  dark  curling  locks 
of  the  Poet  were  as  glossy,  and  seemed  as  f^esh,  as  on  the  day  of  his 
death.  In  the  interior  of  the  structure  stands  a  marble  monument,  em- 
bodying, with  little  skill  or  grace,  that  weU-known  passage  in  the  dedica- 
tion to  the  gentlemen  of  the  Caledonian  Hunt : — *"  The  poetic  Genius  of 
my  country  found  me,  as  the  prophetic  bard  Elijah  did  Elisha — at  the 
plough ;  and  threw  her  inspiring  mantle  over  me.''— Nor  is  the  indiffer- 
ent sculpture  redeemed  by  the  inscription.  The  merits  of  him  who 
wrote  <'  Tam  O'  Sbanter,"  and  "  The  Cottar's  Saturday  Night,"  are 
concealed  in  Latin.  Here,  as  to  a  shrine,  flock  annually  vast  numbers 
of  pilgrims ;  many,  very  many,  are  from.  America ;  not  a  few  from 
France  and  Germany ;  and  the  list-book  contains  the  names  of  the  most 
esBineut  men  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland." — vol.  i.  pp.  345,  346. 

**  He  was  thirty^aeven  years  and  seven  months  old  when  he  died^ 
and  of  a  form  and  strength  which  promised  long  life ;  but  the  great 
and  inspired  are  often  cut  down  in  youth,  while 

Villains  ripen  grey  with  time. 

We  entered  upon  these  volumes  with  the  accustomed  fear^  that 
at  the  close  of  the  illustrious  peasant's  life  here  drawn,  we  should 
still  feel  there  was  something  yet  wanting  to  do  justice  to  the  genius 
and  character  of  the  departed,  and  to  the  desires  of  the  living.  Bi|t. 
we  must  retract  the  sweeping  expressions  with  wliich  we  set  out, 
and  say  that  we  cannot  hope,  and  hardly  wish  that  any  other  hand 
should  hereafter  touch  the  subject  of  the  first  of  the  volumes  before 
IIS.  The  Life  is  a  manly  honest  careful  work ;  tender  and  compre- 
hensive as  the  fine  sensibility  and  grandeur  of  the  Poet's  soul,  de* 
manded.  But  the  litde  we  have  accomplished,  to  give  our  readers 
some  idea  of  the  merits  of  the  Biographer,  utterly  fails  in  doing 
any  thing  like  justice  to  his  efforts.  It  is  the  Life,  or  rather  the 
whole  of  this  new  edition,  that  must  be  perused,  ere  its  real  ex- 
cell^ice  can  be  known:  whilst  the  exterior  beauty  of  the  volumes, 
and  their  cheapness  should  be  an  additional  recommendation  to  all 
who  can  reUsh  the  poetry,  and  the  letters  of  the  immortal  Scottish 
Bard. 

Mr.  Crabbe,  the  subject  of  our  second  notice,  has  found  an  ex- 
cellent biographer  in  his  son,  who  has  performed  an  acceptable 
service,  and  a  filial  duty,  in  treasuring  up  all  that  can  be  re- 
membered of  a  man  of  great  ability  and  worth— of  a  poet  distin- 
guished for  his  originality  and  power.  We  shall,  therefore,  princi- 
pally avail  ourselves  of  the  materials  furnished  by  his  son^  in  the 
sketch  we  intend  to  give  of  his  life  and  writings. 

George  Crabbe  was  born  at  Aldborough,  on  the  Christmas  eve 
of  1754.  The  circumstances  of  his  family  were  very  humble,  and 
he  has  himself  told  us,  with  good-humoured  sarcasm,  of  the  vanity 
of  one  of  his  ancestors,  who  endeavoured  to  repair,  in  some  degree, 
the  unkindness  of  fortune,  by  dignifying  the  family  name,  origmally 


102  Bums*  and  Crabbe's  Poetry. 

Crab,  with  the  addition  of  two  final  letters.  His  father,  after 
passing  several  years  in  the  itinerant  occupation  of  a  schoolmaster, 
was  at  length  installed  in  the  ofHces  of  warehouse-keeper,  and  de- 
puty-collector of  the  port  of  Aldborough,  to  which  he  afterwards 
added  that  of  the  collector  of  the  salt  duties^  or  salt-master,  as  this 
officer  is  usually  denominated.  He  appears  to  have  united  many 
valuable  traits  of  character  with  repulsive  sternness  and  severity ; 
vfkule  his  wife,  on  the  other  hand,  tP  whdm  Crabbe  often  alludes  in 
tenns  of  aflfeetionate  veneration,  was  one  ct  those  beautiful  exam- 
ples of  retiring  Christian  virtue^  which,  like  the  most  delicate 
flot^ers,  are  rarely  found  but  in  the  shade.  There  was  little  in  the 
aspect  of  his  native  village  to  charm  a  poet's  fancy :  it  was  a  barren 
and  deserted  spot,  situated  between  the  base  of  a  low  cliff  and  the 
shore  of  the  German  ocean ;  its  dwellings  were  like  thos^  which 
are  not  unfirequently  seen  on  the  sands  of  the  coast,  appearing  as  if 
drawn  up  at  anchor  on  the  shore;  and  it  was  peopled  by  a  wild  and 
amphibious  race  of  fishermen  and  sailors,  competently  versed  in  the 
accomplishments  which  are  apt  to  beset  the  men  of  perilous  ad- 
venture. The  landscape,  notwithstanding  the  attempt  made  by  some 
hardy  poet  to  describe  it  as  a  scene  of  beauty,  presented  little  to 
,  the  eye,  excepting  a  desolate  succession  of  unbroken  heath  and 
, '  sand,  enlivened  with  a  meagre  covering  of  weeds  and  rushes ;  there 
;  was  in  feet  nothing  in  the  prospect  to  excite  or  fire  the  poetical 
imagination,  but  the  ever  varying  aspect  of  the  ocean,  on  which,  as 
is  obvious  from  all  Crabbers  writings,  he  loved  to  dwell.  The 
social  aspect  of  his  residence  was,  if  possible,  still  less  inviting  than 
the  face  of  nature.  His  home  was  rendered  sad  and  desolate  by 
the  harshness  of  his  father ;  and  there  were  none  abroad  among 
whom  his  own  tastes  could  find  the  least  encouragement  or  sympa- 
thy. His  youthful  proficiency  in  the  art  of  managing  a  fishing 
boat  was  so  indifferent,  that  his  father  would  sometimes  ask,  in  the 
bitterness  of  his  heart,  *  What  that  thing  would  ever  be  good  for?* 
It  should  be  stated,  however,  that  the  father  had  sense  enough  to 
discover  the  talent  of  his  son,  and,  as  the  latter  afterwards  acknow- 
ledged with  gratitude,  laboured  to  provide  him  with  such  means  of 
education  as  his  own  limited  resources  would  allow.  But  the  lite- 
rary toleration  of  the  salt-master  did  not  extend  to  so  crying  a  he- 
resy as  poetry :  he  was  a  subscriber  to  some  philosophical  magazine, 
the  gravity  of  whose  pages  was  regularly  enlivened  with  a  score  or 
two  of  verses ;  these  it  was  his  custom  to  cut  out  when  he  sent  the 
numbers  to  be  bound,  and  they  were  treasured  up  as  a  rich  pos- 
session by  his  son,  who  found  in  them  his  first  models  of  the  art, 
in  which  he  afterwards  excelled. 

In  his  eleventh  or  twelfth  year,  after  having  attended  a  village 
school,  for  what  period  we  are  not  informed^  he  was  removed  to 
another,  where  he  was  expected  to  prepare  himself  to  become  ap- 
prentice to  a  snrgeon.  He  is  said  here  to  have  exhibited  a  decided 
taste  for  mathematical  pursuits,  as  well  as  for  poetry,  in  which  he 


Bmma'  ,and  CrMes  Poetry.  108 

DMJe  kit  first  essay  in  the  form  of  a  salutary  caution  to  a  school 
girl,  not  to  snlfor  herself  to  be  too  much  elated  by  the  triumph  of 
disnlaying  neir  ribbons  on  her  bonnet.  Some  time  elapsed,  aftw 
he  left  tluB  school,  before  he  could  find  an  oppoitnnity  of  entering 
upon  the  business  he  intended  to  pursue.  A  portion  of  this  time 
was  spent  in  masiBg/  in  his  solitary  walks  by  the  seashore ;  but 
the  greater  part  was  occupied  in  piling  batter  and  cheese  on  the 
quay  at  Aldboroi^h,  under  the  direction  of  his  father,  who  enter- 
tained no  great  opinion  of  idleness,  and  least  of  all  that  which  was 
consecrated  to  poetic  dreams.  This  occupation  was  long  remem- 
bexed  by  the  poet  with  little  satisfaction.  At  length,  in  his  four^ 
teenth  year,  the  long  expected  opportunity  was  presented ;  and  he 
set  forth,  with  a  heavy  heart,  to  become  apprentice  to  a  surgeon  at 
DVickham  Brook.  His  pursuits,  even  there,  were  not  wholly  of  a 
scientific  kind  ;  his  master  distributed  his  time  imi>artially  betwe^i 
the  arts  of  husbandry  and  healing,  and  his  apprentice  was  the  bed- 
fellow and  fellow-labourer  of  his  plough  boy.  In  this  way,  he 
passed  about  two  years  ;  then  he  removed  to  a  more  eligible  situ- 
ation, to  complete  the  term  of  his  apprenticeship  under  the  direc- 
tion of  a  surgeon  at  Woolridge,  a  few  miles  distant  from  his  native 
viDage.  Poetry  still  eontinued  to  occupy  a  large  shtre  of  his  at- 
tention :  he  was  never  much  in  love  with  his  profession,  though  he 
devoted  himself  to  it  with  tolerable  earnestness.  He  found  a  source 
of  inspiration,  which  youthfiil  poets  never  wait  for  long,  in  an  at- 
tachment which  he  here  formed  for  the  niece  of  a  wealthy  fitrmer^ 
who  tweke  years  afterwards  became  his  wife,  and  in  the  mean  time 
stimulated  his  literary  zeal  by  encouragement,  which  proved  in  the 
result  to  be  both  fortunate  and  wise.  A  small  premium  for  a  poem 
oa  the  subject  of  Hope,  was  offered  by  the  proprietor  of  some 
Ladies'  Magazine :  this  prize  it  was  his  fortune  to  gain,  and  the 
success,  trifling  as  it  was,  set  all  the  springs  of  his  poetical  enthusi- 
asm in  motion.  It  was  here,  also,  that  he  published  a  poem,  en- 
titled *  Inebriety,'  a  name  of  no  particular  attraction  ;  this  work  is 
said  to  exhibit  much  &cility  of  versification  and  maturity  of  thought, 
but  attracted  little  notice  at  the  time. 

Mr.  Crabbe's  term  of  apprenticeship  ended  in  1775;  he  then  re- 
turned to  Aldborough,  hoping  to  find  some  means  of  completing  his 
professional  education  in  London ;  but  his  father's  means  were  in- 
adequate to  this  demand,  as  well  as  to  maintaining  him  in  idleness 
at  home :  he  returned,  therefore,  to  his  old  labours  at  the  warehouse, 
which  were  rendered  doubly  irksome  by  new  circumstances  of  do- 
mestic sorrow.  The  habits  of  his  fath^  had  undergone  that  change, 
which  fills  the  cup  of  afiUction  to  the  brim ;  and  the  health  of  his 
mother,  in  whose  happiness  his  own  was  bound  up,  was  sinking 
under  a  fatal  and  quick  decline.  Impelled  less  by  choice  than  a 
sense  of  its  necessity,  he  devoted  himself  with  more  zeal  than  before 
to  the  study  of  his  profession,  and  the  sciences  connected  with  it  ; 
paxticularly  botany,  which  was  then  and  afterwards  bis  favourite 


104  Bvms^Md  OnUibe-s  Poetry. 

puxMiii.  At  feagtfi  his  iBtlidF  {band  the  means  of  Mading  I^sl 
to  London,  with  a  purse  too  slender  to  attend  lectures  or  to  wi^ 
the  hospitals,  and  only  with  the  hope,  as  he  himself  said^  of  picking 
np  a  little  surgical  knowledge  as  chea{rfy  as  he  oould.  In  the  course 
of.a  few  months,  he  returned  to  Aldborough,  but  with  no  propitious 
change  in  his  prospects  or  his  fortune.  There  he  became  assistant 
to  a  surgeon^  who  soon  retired  from  the  village,  and  left  him  at  U- 
berty  to  set  up  for  himself :  but  he  had  a  rivad  in  the  field,  and  his 
own  practice  was  the  least  productive  which  tiie  place  afforded. 
His  patients,  who  saw  his  botanical  researches,  thought  it  unrea- 
sonable  that  they  should  be  called  upon  to  p^r  for  medicines  col- 
lected in  the  fields  and  ditches.  On  the  whole,  his  prospects  were 
not  very  encouraging,  and  not  the  least  of  hia  afflictions  was  a  senses 
of  his  deficiency  in  professional  knowledge  and  skill.  A  transient 
gleam  of  sunshine  broke  out  in  1778,  when  the  Warwickshire  nu* . 
Utia  were  quartered  in  his  neighbourhood,  with  whose  officers,  as 
their  medi^Q  attendant,  he  formed  some  usefiil  intimacies.  He  felty 
however,  that  Aiborough  was  no  place  for  him,  and  resolved  to 
take  the  earliest  opportunity  to  leav^  it.  It  was  late  in  the  year 
i779,  at  the  close  of  a  cold  and  gloomy  day,  when,  as  he  was  wan- 
dering on  the  bleak  cliff  above  the  village,  he  determined  to  aban<- 
don  liis  profession,  and  embark  on  the  uncertain  sea  of  literary  ad* 
venture.  He  stopped  before  a  shallow,  muddy  sheet  of  water,  as 
dark  and  as  desolate  as  his  own  thoughts,  and,as  he  gazed  upon  it, 
resolved  to  go  to  London  and  to  venture  all. 

His  prospects  must  have  indeed  been  melancholy,  to  impel  him 
to  a  resolution,  apparently  so  hopeless.  His  health  was  not  firm, 
the  reception  of  his  poetical  attempts  had  not  been  flattering,  «nd . 
his  nerves  were  iU  calculated  to  wrestle  with  adversity.  There  was 
not  a  single  friend  in  the  metropolis,  on  whom  he  could  rely  for  aid. 
He  had  also  to  endure  the  reproaches  of  his  fstther,  who  ^id  not- 
however,  labour  much  to  change  his  purpose.  The  means  of  affec- 
ting it  were  yet  to  be  found;  his  own  immediate  friends  were  un*- 
able  or  unwilling  to  supply  them,  and  he  applied  to  Mr.  Dudley^ 
North,  to  whom  his  father  had  been  usefiil  in  some  poUtical  can-*. 
vass,  for  the  loan  of  five  pounds.  The  letter,  in  which  he  made 
the  application,  was  ajfterwards  described  by  that  gentleman  as  a 
very  extraordinary  one :  his  request  was  readily  granted ;  and,  with 
three  pounds  in  his  pocket,  a  case  of  surgical  instruments,  and  a 
box  of  clothing,  the  whole  stock  of  his  worldly  fortune,  he  embarked 
on  board  a  little  sloop,  and  took  his  way  to  London. 

It  was  in  the  year  1780,  that  he  reached  that  city;  a  propitious 
period,  as  his  biographer  remarks,  for  an  adventurer  in  poetry,  if 
indeed  the  good  fortune  of  a  poet  can  be  said  to  consist  in  the 
absence  of  a  rivid.  Goldsmith,  Gray  and  Churchill  Were  dead ; 
Johnson  had  long  before  abandoned  poetry,  and  was  drawing  near 
the  close  of  his  eminent  career;  the  genius  of  Cowper,  which 
bloomed,  like  the  witch-hazel,  in  the  late  autumn  of  his  years,  had 


Aow*  ami  CrM^^^  Ptfeir^.  IM 

not  yet  been  revealed;  and  the  echo'of  the  fame  of  Burni  ha 

hardly  cros^  the  Scottish  border.  His  biographer  is^  however^ 
mistaken,  if  he  supposes  that  the  demand  for  poetry  in  the  literary 
maricet  is  governed  by  the  extent  of  the  supply ;  and  who  was  to 
assure  the  young  adventurer,  that  he  could  fill  the  vacant  place  in 
the  achniration  of  the  world  ?  He  came  without  a  patron ;  he  could 
clann  but  a  single  acquaintance  in  Zx)ndon,  and  she  was  the  wife  of 
a  linen  draper  in  Comhill  not  particularly  likely  to  forward  his  lite- 
rary piojects,  though  hind  and  liberal  in  her  attentions.  He  took' 
lodgings  at  the  house  of  a  hairdresser,  near  the  Exchange,  and  set 
himself,  with  a  firm  and  manly  spirit;  about  the  doubtfiil  task  before 
hkn  ;  fiirst  transcribing  the  poetical  pieces  he  brought  with  him  from 
the  country,  composing  one  or  two  dramas  and  essays  in  prose,  and 
labouring  to  improve  his  versification,  and  to  become  fiuniliar  with 
sadh  books  as  he  found  at  his  command.  Some  of  his  intigiates, 
at  this  period,  were  in  circumstances  not  unlike  his  own,  and  were 
simflarly  fortunate  in  their  subsequent  Ufe.  Among  them  was  Mr. 
Bonnycastle,  late  master  of  the  Military  Academy  at  Woolwich, 
and  Isaac  Dalby  and  Reuben  Barrow,  both  mathematicians  of  dis- 
tinguished eminence.  It  deserves  to  be  recorded  to  his  honour, 
that  during  this  period,  while  he  was  tortured  by  anxiety  and  de- 
presised  by  poverty,  he  kept  his  mind  always  fixed  on  the  object  of 
hie  pursuit,  neither  yielding  to  the  sore  temptations  of  adverse  for- 
tune, nor  ever  sinking  in  despondency.  Some  of  his  pieces  were 
offered  to  the  booksellers,  and  were  rejected ;  he  tried  new  subjects, 
and  laboured  still  harder  than  before,  but  with  no  better  success. 
An  anonymous  poem,  called  **  The  Candidate,'  was  published  at 
his  own  charge,  but  found  no  public  welcome;  and  the  foilure  of  his 
bookseller  compiled  him  to  take  refiige  in  the  last  shelter  to  which 
a  sensitive  mind  can  resort,  an  apptication  for  pecuniary  aid  t' 
strangers.  For  this  he  first  applied  to  Lord  North,  but  in  vain ; 
a  sfmilar  appeal  to  Lord  Shdbume  produced  no  answer.  After 
addressing  several  letters  to  that  coarsest  of  illustrious  personages, 
Lc^d  Chancellor  Thurlow,  he  received  a  cold  reply,  purporting  that 
his  Lordship^s  avocations  left  him  no  leisure  t6  read  verses.  In  his 
journal,  written  at  this  time,  he  says :  '  I  have  parted  with  my 
money^  sold  my  wardrobe,  pawned  my  watch,  am  in  debt  to  my 
landlord,  and  finally,  am  at  some  loss  how  to  eat  a  week  longer. 
Another  extract  from  the  same  journal  will  afibrd  an  idea  of  the 
s{ririt  and  temper,  with  which  he  bore  himself  under  these  hard  cir- 
cumstances. "  It  is  the  vilest  thing  in  the  world  to  have  but  one 
co«t.  My  only  one  has  met  with  a  mischance,  and  how  to  manage 
it  is  some  difficulty.  A  confounded  stove's  modish  ornament  caught 
its'  elbottr,  and  rent  it  half  way.  Pinioned  to  the  side  it  came  home, 
and  I  ran  deploring  to  my  loft.  In  the  dilemma,  it  occurred  to  me 
to  tnm  tailor  myself,  but  how  to  get  materials  to  work  with  puzzled 
me,<  At  last  I  went  running  down  in  a  hurry,  with  three  or  four 
sheets  ^  paper  in  my  hand,  and  begged  for  a  needle  and  thread  to 


10&  Bume'  and  OoUt'f  Poetry, 

sew  thera  togetker .  This  finished  my  job^  and,  but  that  ii  ifll  wtmtt^ 
what  thicker^  the  elbow  is  a  good  one  yet/'  The  portion  of  the  jour- 
nal given  in  the  first  volume,  is  quite  valuable,  as  presenting  a  pi(v 
tare  of  a  manly  spirit,  tried  by  a  kind  of  suffi^ng,  which  the  heart 
of  every  one  will  tell  him  is  severe.  There  is  nothing  of  querulous- 
ness  in  it :  no  more  of  despondency,  than  the  circumstanGes  of  his 
situation  could  not  fail  to  excite ;  it  betrays  throughout  the  energies 
of  a  strong  mind,  and  the  tranquility  of*  a  religious  one.  Mr. 
Crabbe's  repeated  applications  to  ex  officio  patrons  having  thos 
proved  fruitless,  he  resolved  to  make  one  final  effort :  and  he  forta* 
nalely  directed  himself  to  one,  who  was  as  much  above  the  heredi- 
tary 07  created  peers  around  him  in  generous  feeling,  as  he  was  in 
the  miraculous  endowments  of  his  mind. .  He  addressed  the  fol- 
lowing letter  to  Edmund  Burke. 

"  *  Sir,  I  am  sensible,  that  I  need  even  your  talents  to  apolo^ze  ibr  the 
freedom  I  now  take ;  but  I  have  a  plea  which,  however  simply  urged,  will^ 
with  a  mind  like  yours.  Sir,  procure  me  pardon  :  I  am  one  ^f  these  <Mit- 
casts  on  the  world,  who  are  without  a  friend,  without  employment,  and 
without  bread. 

"  'Pardon  me  a  short  prefeice.  I  had  a  partial  father,  who  gave  me  a 
better  education  than  his  broken  fortune  would  have  allowed;  and  a 
better  than  was  necessary,  as  he  could  give  me  that  only.  I  was  designed 
for  the  profession  of  physic ;  but  not  having  wherewithall  to  complete 
the  requisite  studies,  the  design  but  served  to  convince  me  of  a  parent's 
affection,  and  the  error  it  had  occasioned.  In  April  last  I  came  to  London, 
with  three  pounds,  and  flattered  myself  this  would  be  sufficient  to  supply 
me  with  the  common  necessaries  of  life,  till  my  abilities  would  procure  me 
more ;  of  these  I  had  the  highest  opinion,  and  a  poetical  vanity  coa« 
tributed  to  my  delusion.  I  knew  little  of  the  world,  and  had  read  books 
only  ;  I  wrote,  and  fancied  perfection  in  my  compositions ;  when  I  wanted 
bread  they  promised  me  affluence,  and  soothed  me  with  dreams  of  repu* 
tation,  whilst  my  appearance  subjected  me  to  contempt. 

*'  ^  Time,  reflection  and  want  have  shewed  me  my  mistake.  I  see  my 
trifles  in  that  which  I  think  the  true  light ;  and  whilst  I  deem  them  such, 
have  yet  the  opinion  that  holds  them]  superior  to  the  conunon  run  of 
poetical  publications. 

"  *  I  had  some  knowledge  of  the  late  Mr.  Naussau,  the  brother  of  Lord 
Rochford  ;  in  consequence  of  which  I  asked  his  Lordship's  permission  to 
inscribe  my  little  work  to  him.  Knowing  it  to  be  free  from  all  political 
allusions  and  personal  abuse,  it  was  no  very  material  point  to  me  to  whom 
it  was  dedicated.  His  Lordship  thought  it  none  to  him,  and  obligingly 
consented  to  my  request. 

*' '  I  was  told  that  a  subscription  would  be  the  more  profitable  method 
for  me,  and  therefore  endeavoured  to  circulate  copies  of  the  enclosed 
Proposals. 

"  '  I  am  afraid,  Sir,  I  di^ust  you  with  this  very  dull  narration,  but 
believe  me  punished  in  the  misery  that  occasions  it.  You  will  conclude 
that  during  this  time,  I  must  have  been  at  more  expense  than  I  could 
afford ;  indeed  the  most  parsimonious  could  not  have  avoided  it.  The 
printei'  deceived  me,  and  my  little  business  has  had  every  delay.  The 
people  with  whom  I  live  i>erceive  my  situation,  and  find  me  to  be  irtdt- 


gent  and  \dthout  friends.  About  ten  days  einee,  I  wu  oompattedto  give 
a  note  for  seven  pounds,  to  avoid  an  amst  for  about  double  that  sum 
nvfaach  I  owe.  1  wrote  to  every  friend  I  had,  but  my  friends  are  poor 
likewise ;  the  time  of  payment  approached,  and  I  ventured  to  represent. 
my  case  to  Lord  Rochford.  I  begged  to  be  credited  for  this  sum  till 
I  received  it  of  my  subscribers,  which  I  believe  will  be  within  one  month ; 
but  to  this  letter  I  had  no  reply,  and  I  have  probably  offended  by  my  im- 
portunity. Having  used  every  honest  means  in  vain,  I  yesterday  con- 
feseed  my  inability,  and  obtained  with  much  entreaty,  and  as  the  greatest' 
favour,  a  week's  lorbearance,  when  I  am  positively  told,  that  I  must  pay 
the  money,  or  prepare  for  a  prison. 

**  *  You  will  guess  the  purpose  of  so  long  an  introduction.    I  appeal  to 
you,  Sir,  as  a  good,  and,  let  me  add,  a  great  man*.    I  have  no  other  pre-  * 
tensions  to  yotir  favour  than  that  I  am  an  unhappy  one.    It  is  not  easy 
to  support  the  thotightB  of  confinement ;  and  I  am  coward  enough  to  dread 
saoh  an  end  to  my  suspense. 

** ' Cftn  you,  Sir,  in  any  degree,  aid  me  with  propriety? — Will  you  ask 
any  demonstrations  of  my  veracity  ?  I  have  imposed  upon  myself,  but  I 
have  been  guilty  of  no  other  imposition.  Let  me,  if  possible,  interest 
your  compassion.  I  know  those  of  rank  and  fortune  are  teazed  with  fre- 
quent petitions,  and  are  compelled  to  refuse  the  requests  even  of  those 
whom  they  know  to  be  in  distress :  it  is,  therefore,  with  a  distant  hope  I 
venture  to  solicit  such  a  favour :  but  you  will  forgive  me,  Sir,  if  you  do 
not  think  proper  to  relieve.  It  is  impossible  that  sentiments  like  yours 
can  proceed  from  any  but  a  humane  and  generous  heart. 

^^  *  I  will  call  upon  you,  l^r,  to-morrow,  and  if  I  have  not  the  happineas 
to  obtain  credit  with  you,  I  must  submit  to  my  fate.  My  existence  is  a 
pom  to  myself,  and  every  one  near  and  dear  to  me  is  distressed  in  my  dis- 
tresses. My  connexions,  once  the  source  of  happixiess,  now  embitter  the 
reverse  of  my  fortune,  and  I  have  only  to  hope  a  speedy  end  to  a  life  so 
unpromisingly  begun :  in  which  (though  it  ought  not  to  be  boasted  of)  I 
can  reap  some  consolation  from  looking  to  the  end  of  it,  I  am.  Sir,  with 
the  greatest  respect^  your  obedient  and  mosf  humble  servant,  George 
Crabbe.'  '* 

It  is  not  easy  to  read  any  thing  relating  to  Edmund  Burke, 
without  pausing  for  a  moment,  to  indulge  in  the  thousand  recollec- 
tions, which  gather  round  his  name.  He  was  a  man,  whose  like 
has  been  seldom  seen  in  the  sphere  of  human  intelligences,  and  will 
not  soon  be  seen  again.  Almost  in  his  youth,  he  rose  to  that  elevated 
point  of  philosophical  r^utation,  of  which  his  adopted  country  has 
not  many  examples  to  show  ;  and  shortly  afterwards,  he  stood 
without  a  rival  in  the  long  line  of  her  living  or  departed  orators  ; — 
beyond  and  above  them  all  in  that  affluence  of  thought,  deep  practical 
sagacity,  and  surpassing  glory  of  rhetorical  ornament  which  make 
the  voice  of  real  eloquence  as  commanding  in  future  ages,  as  in  the 
moment  of  its  most  important  victories.  He  combing  the  fervour 
of  the  most  generous  enthusiasm,  with  unerring  insight  into  all  the 
springs  and  sources  of  human  character  and  action  ;  deep  scorn  of 
all  Uutt  was  low  and  sordid  with  constant  solicitude  to  advance  the 
weD*being  of  his  race :  and  it  might  almost  he  considered  a  triumph 


im  Bums*  and  Cndfbe'a  PtHty: 

of  oar  nature^  that  one  so  higUy  gifUd  should  have  l>eeti  so  disititer- 
ested  aad  confiding^  so  earnest  in  the  cause  of  human  happiness  and 
right.  It  may  be,  that  some  of  his  political  views^  weighed  in  onr 
balances  and  measured  by  our  standards,  are  found  wanting  ;  but 
such  a  mind  could  not  but  be  noble  in  its  very  errors;  they  were  • 
errors  of  judgment  and  not  imperfections  of  the  heart  :  they  wet^ 
the  wreaths  of  mist,  which  intercept  the  glories  of  the  morning  sun, 
while  they  are  kindled  into  beauty  by  its  light.  It  was  indeed  a 
generous  and  manly  spirit,  to  which  the  affecting  appeal  of  Che 
young  adventurer  was  made.  Men,  who  are  engaged  in  conducting 
the  destinies  of  nations,  have  rarely  leisure  to  attend  to  individual' 
concerns ;  the  wh(^ale  good  which  occupies  their  thoughts  seems 
to  acquit  them  of  the  obUgation  to  be  benevolent  by  retail.  At  this  ' 
period,  the  mind  of  Mr.  Burke  was  much  absorbed  in  the  fierce 
struggles  of  parliamentary  war.  His  pecuniary  circumstances  were 
by  no  means  those  of  affluence :  of  the  pride  or  vanity  of  being 
deemed  a  patron,  he  had  absolutdy  none;  his  charities  were  so 
nnobtrusive,  that  he  evidently  thought  them  nothing  more  than 
daily  acts  of  duty.  There  was  nothing  very  peculiar  in  the  circum- 
stances of  Mr.  Crabbe ;  claims  of  equal  strength,  so  &r  as  his  could 
then  be  known,  might  not  unfrequently  be  held  forth  by  others  : 
he  presented  himself  to  Mr.  Burke  only  as  a  youngman  of  merit  in 
distress.  '^  He  went,"  says  his  son,  *^  into  Mr.  Burke's  room,  a 
po(Hr  young  adventurer,  spumed  by  the  opulent  and  rejected  by  the 
puUishers,  his  last  shilling  gone,  and  all  but  his  last  hope  with  it : 
he  came  out  virtually  seizure  of  almost  all  the  good  fortune  that,  by 
successive  steps, afterwards  fell  to  his  lot:  his  genius  acknowledged 
by  one  whose  verdict  could  not  be  questioned, — ^his  character  and 
manners  appreciated  and  approved  by  a  noble  and  capacious  heart, 
whose  benevolence  knew  no  limits  but  its  power — ^that  of  a  giant  in 
intellect,  who  was,  in  feeling,  an  unsophisticated  child, — a  bright 
examine  of  the  close  afBnity  between  superlative  talents,  and  the 
warmth  of  the  generous  afiections.''  Mr.  Burke  immediately 
received  ham  under  his  roof,  and  proceeded  to  examine  his  compo-  ' 
sitions,  with  the  view  of  selecting  a  portion  of  them  for  the  press. 
"  The  Library,"  and  "  The  Village,"  appeared  to  him  best  suited 
to  his  purpose ;  he  took  the  manuscripts  himself  to  Dodsley, 
and  gave  the  whole  weight  cS  his  critical  decision  in  their  iavour. 
The  worthy  bookseller  indeed  declined  to  take  the  hazard  of  the 
publication,  but  used  every  eflfort  to  procure  for  diem  a  rapid  sale, 
and  uniformly  treated  the  author  with  a  liberality,  which  was  always 
gratefolly  acknowledged.  Of  these  poems,  "  The  Library "  was 
published  first,  and  was  shortly  afterwards  followed  by  ''  The 
Village." 

The  liberality  of  Mr.  Burke  was  equally  active  and  unwearied.  ' 
At  his  table,  Mr.  Crabbe  beeame  intimately  known  to  that  iHus- 
trious'circle,  of  which  his  friend  was  the  chief  ornament, — to  Rey- 
nolds, Fox,  and  Johnson,«—all  of  whom  aj^ar  to  have  appreciated ' 


i 


Bm%9?  tmd  CnMe*s  Poeity.  109 

ajiilitiea,  and  to  have  treated  him  with  marked  tes'peei  and  kind-* 
ness.  Johnson,  in  particular,  whoee  critical  word  was  law,  read 
''The  ViUi^e"  in  manuscript,  and  pronounced  upon  it  a  panegyric, 
of  which  he  was  never  very  prodigal.  The  views  of  life  which  it 
presented,  so  similar,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  to  his  own» 
may  have  been  in  some  degree  the  cause  of  his  complacency;  but 
however  this  may  have  been,  the  eulogy  was  just ;  and  when  John- 
son applauded,  the  lesser  critics  felt  entirely  safe  in  joining  in  the 
chorus.  Even  the  Lord  Chancellor,  to  whom  Crabbe,  after  the 
rejection  of  his  application,  had  addressed  a  severe  poetical  remon- 
strance^ now  requested  an  interview,  at  which  he  addressed  him 
with  the  words5  ^'  The  first  poem  you  sent  to  me.  Sir,  I  ought  to 
have  noticed, — and  I  heartily  forgive  the  second."  He  at  the  same 
time  requested  the  satirist  to  accept  a  bank  note  of  one  hundred 
pouods^  and  assured  him,  that  when  he  should  take  orders,  which, 
by  the  advice  of  Mr.  Burke,  he  was  about  to  do,  more  substantial 
evidences  of  regard  should  be  afforded  him.  In  the  year  1781  his 
purpose  was  effected.  He  was  ordained  as  a  priest,  and  ^became  a 
curate  to  the  rector  of  his  native  village.  On  returning  to  Aid- 
borough,  under  circumstances  far  different  firom  those  in  which  he 
left  it^  his  reception  was  of  a  kind,  which  confirmed  bis  early  im- 
pressiona  of  the  character  of  rural  life.  His  poetical  reputation 
was  not  one,  which  the  villagers  were  well  calculated  to  appreciate ; 
those  jealousies  and  heartburnings,  which  are  sure  to  follow  the  pos* 
aessor  of  unexpected  good  fortune,  made  his  residence  uncomfortable ; 
his  excellent  mother,  to  whom  he  not  unfrequently  alludes  in  his 
waitings  with  a  tenderness  and  feeling,  resembling  Uiose  with  which 
Pope  has  preserved  the  memory  of  the  guardian  of  his  early  years 
had  sunk  beneath  affliction  and  disease ;  and  his  father  bad 
diminished  the  few  comforts  of  his  home  by  an  alliance  with  one 
little  calculated!  to  repair  the  loss.  After  a  brief  sojourn,  Mr. 
CraU)e  accepted  the  place  of  domestic  chaplain  to  the  Duke  of 
Rutland^  ana  took  up  his  residence  at  Belvoir  Castle.  Some  cir- 
cuiDstances  are  related  by  his  biographer,  which  tend  to  show  that 
he  was  not  inclined  to  regret  the  separation  from  his  patron,  which 
took  place  shortly  after,  on  the  departure  of  the  Duke  to  assume 
the  post  of  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland. 

Just  at  this  moment,  the  Lord  Chancellor  presented  him  with 
two  small  livings.  He  was  now  united  in  marriage  to  the  early 
friend,  who  had  watched  his  progress  to  competency  and  feme 
through  many  weary  years.  Not  long  afterwards,  his  old  friend 
the  Lord  Chancellor,  at  the  instigation  of  the  Duchess  of  Rutland, 
and  sorely  against  his  inclination,  gave  him  the  living  of  Muston, 
in  the  vicinity  of  Belvoir  Castle.  On  the  first  suggestion  of  this 
exchange^  the  keeper  of  the  royal  oonscienee  had  roundly  sworn, 
that  be  would  make  it  for  no  man  in  England  ;  but  a  lady  was  the 
intercessor  in  this  instance,  so  that  th»e  was  no  infraction  of  the 
yow«    Hece^  in  1785,  he  publishad  the  "  Newspqpar/'  a  brief  and 


1  lO  Bmi8*  9n4  CrMe's  Poetry. 

not  yevy  original  sathe ;  and  tben  8onk  into  a  r^poae,  ooix^gted 
with  wbich  the  slumber  of  the  8le^>er8  of  Ephesujs  was  of  very  fanef 
duratiou.  It  was  not  until  the  expiration  of  twenty-two  yearsi  that 
his  other  poems  bogao  to  be  issued  from  the  press. 

TUs  perseyerui^  silencey  on  the  part  of  one^  who  had  no  reaaoa 
to  complain  of  a  want  of  public  fevour,  has  occasioned  much-  specn- 
lation ;  we  thinks  however^  that  it  is  more  easily  accounted  for  tiban 
his  subsequent  re-appearance.  It  is  very  obvious^  from  the  sketch 
of  his  character  given  in  this  volume,  that  he  had  no  overweening 
confidence  in  hia  own  powers :  the  encouragement  of  Burke  ana 
Johnson,  to  say  nothing  of  the  pressure  of  severe  necessity,  had 
overborne  his  scruples  hitherto ;  b«t  that  spur  to  effort  was  removed, 
and  he  had  acquired  a  capital  of  fame  sufficient  for  his  wishes. 
Men  of  sensitive  minds  are  not  unfrequently  less  reluctant  to  see 
their  stock  diminishing  by  time,  than  to  risk  it  on  a  doubtful  ven- 
ture ;  they  f<^w  the  example  of  Pope's  &ther,  who  retired  from 
business  in  the  prime  of  life,  deposited  all  his  property  in  a  stout 
iron  chest,  and  went  on  expending,  until  his  life  and  fortune  came 
to  an  end  together.  Mr.  Crabbe  was  not  one  of  those  who  look  on 
poetry  as  pastime.  There  were  various  other  engagements  to  which 
he  more  readily  inclined;  and  he  appears,  also,  to  have  been  at  all 
times  scarupulous  to  permit  nothing  else  to  interfere  with  the 
rigorous  disi^arge  of  duty.  .Goldsmith's  beautifol  deseriptipn  of 
the  religious  character  of  the  priest  of  Sweet  Auburn,  would  not 
have  been  inapplicable  to  him.  He  was  always  found  at  the  bedj»id# 
of  the  sick  and  dying ;  his  parishioners  unanimously  accorded  to 
him  the  touching  eulogy,  that  ^  no  sympathy  was  like  his/  During 
the  whole  period  of  his  duties  as  a  country  clergymaa«  he  gnu 
tuitottsly  gave  to  all,  the  benefits  of  bis  old  professional  skill ;  and 
his  poetical  reputation,  great  as  it  is,  seems  valueless  in  the  compa* 
risen  with  that  which  he  merits  for  the  assiduous  discharge  of  every 
moral  and  religious  duty.  Ekffthly  fame  has  no  rewards  to  oifer, 
like  those  which  follow  him,  who  ministers  with  fidelity,  howwer 
humbly,  at  the  altar  of  God.  Mr.  Crabbe  combined  high  intel- 
lectual gifts  with  an  almpst  child-like  simplicity.  As  a  preacher>  he 
was  eloquent  and  impressive,  and  though  very  regardless  of  cere- 
mony, entirely  free  from  affectation.  *^  I  inust  have  s<Hne  money, 
gentlemen,''  was  the  pubUc  notice  which  his  parishioners  received 
of  the  approach  of  tithe  day.  If  the  evenitig  began  to  fall  before 
the  conclusion  of  his  discourse,  he  would  remove  to  a  pew  near  a 
window,  and  stand  up<m  a  bench  to  fmish  it;  these  were  not  indi^ 
caticms  of  a  contempt  of  ordinary  fcarms^  but  of  the  forgetfiihiess 
Gi  one,  who  was  too  sincere  to  be  solicitous  about  his  manner. 

We  have  just  intimated,  that  Mr.  Crabbe  had  no  undue  ooofi- 
iaoatg  in  his  own  powers :  he  was  at  all  times  too  ready  to  follow 
the  advice  oi  others>  whose  capacity  and  judgment  w^e  not  eqiial 
to  his  own;  and  the  w<»rld  is  probably  a  loser  by  this  infirmity. 
Botany  was  always  Ihs  fevourile  pursuit;  he  was  scarcely  aver  with- 


Bwm'  Md  OrahW»  Poeify.  Ill 

ovt  ft  'ftowel*  in  his  hand^  when  the  ireather  permitted  ^1^  to  go 
abroad ;  and  he  emffloyed  himself  for  some  years  in  pi«!paring  an 
Msay  on  this  subject.  It  was  written  in  English^  and  this  the  Vioe 
Master  of  Trinity  College  considered  as  nothing  less  than  high 
treason  against  the  majesty  of  the  Latin  tongue.  This  absurd  sug- 
gestion <usoonraged  him^  and  the  work  was  never  complelea. 
Among  his  other  avocations^  was  that  of  writing  romances^  far 
which  he  was  in  some  respects  eminently  fitted ;  no  man  surpassed 
him  in  descriptive  power  and  keen  scrutiny  of  charaeter,  and  we 
cannot  doubt  that  his  delineations  would  have  been  full  of  energy 
and  truth.  As  ill  fortune  would  have  it,  these  two  fell  victims  to 
domestic  criticism.  One  of  them  was  entitled  ^' Widow  Grey/'  but 
of  ^his  we  have  no  memorial.  A  second  bore  the  name  of  ^^  Regi- 
nald Olanshawe^  or  the  man  who  commanded  success."  It  evened 
with  a  description  of  a  wretched  room,  which  his  wife  pronounced 
faifmor  in  effect  to  similar  descriptions  in  his  poems ;  on  this  judi- 
eions  hint,  he  made  a  bonfire  of  the  whole.  The  early  eflbrts  of 
this  lady  to  induce  him  to  cultivate  his  poetical  powers «  are  hardly 
sufficient  to  atone  for  her  fotal  gift  of  criticism  in  the  present  in- 
stance. Another  sacrifice  of  the  same  kind  was  oflfered  on  his  own 
account,  perhaps  in  order  to  show  his  gratitude  for  the  advice  of 
his  friends,  by  following  it  beyond  both  the  spirit  and  the  letter. 
This  consisted  of  a  series  of  poems  which  he  had  ofiered  to  Dodsley 
who  refused  them. 

We  may  as  well  say  something  here  of  Mr.  Crabbe's  domestic 
character.  He  was  not  without  severe  trials;  for  more  them  twenty 
years  before  her  death,  his  wife  was  visited  with  severe  disease, 
which  seems,  though  her  son  makes  little  direct  allusion  to  the 
subject,  to  have  cast  a  partial  shadow  over  her  mind;  His  <x)n- 
staxtt  and  attentive  kindness  to  her,  when  kindness  was  ahnost 
wearied  or  repelled,  is  a  beautiful  trait ;  and  the  recollections  of 
his  son  are  fiill  of  many  such  amiable  qualities.  To  the  children, 
his  approach  was  always  a  signal  for  aeltght ;  benevolence  was  in 
foct  Ins  distinguishing  characteristic ;  he  entered  with  a  mild  and 
delicate  interest  into  the  feelings  of  every  one  around  him.  Men 
are  apt  to  forget,  when  they  speak  of  extraordinaiy  virtue^  that 
they  in  general  refer  to  some  single  act,  or  occasional  exhibition 
of  exalted  qualities :  but  the  virtue,  after  all,  which  passes  that  of 
martyrs,  flows  from  a  living  and  perennial  spring,  flashing  ever  in 
the  sunlight  of  a  cheerful  temper,  and  sending  its  fertilizing  stveam 
thiroi^  a&  the  dark  places  and  deserts  of  the  way.  **  I  can  still  see 
him,'*  9a3rs  his  son,  *'in  the  eve  of  memory,-— hk  fatherly  coumle* 
nance  unmixed  widi  any  of  the  less  loveable  expressions,  that  in 
too  many  &ces  obscure  that  character,  but  preeminently  J^atkerly : 
eottveying  the  idea  of  kindness,  intellect  and  purity ;  has  manner 

Kve,  manly  and  cheerful,  in  unison  with  his  high  and  c^en  fore« 
id?  his  very  attitudes^  whether  as  he  sat  absorbed  in  the  arranffe* 
ment  of  his  minerals,  shells  and  inseets,-^Kir  as  he  laboured  in  his 


lis  Bwms'  and  Crahbe^i  Poeiry. 

garden,  lintil  his  natunilly  pale  complexion  aoqnired  a  tinge  ethmh 
healthy  red;  or  as  coming  lightly  towards  us  with  some  uneicpected 
present,  his  smile  of  indescribable  benevolence  spoke  exultation  in 
the  foretaste  of  our  raptures." 

It  would  be  of  little  interest  to  dwell  upon  Mr.  Crabbe's  changes 
of  residence,  or  other  circumstances,  which  are  stated  with  consi- 
derable minuteness  by  his  son :  we  pass  therefore  to  the  period, 
when  his  long  silence  was  broken,  and  he  again  appeared  to  revive 
and  confirm  the  original  impression  of  his  power.  In  the  year 
1806,  he  had  nearly  completed  his  ^^  Parish  RegUter"  for  publica- 
tion. Several  years  before,  Mr.  Fox  had  promised  to  revise  his 
publications,  and  to  afibrd  him  the  advantage  of  his  critical  sug- 
gestions. The  career  of  that  great  man  was  now  drawing  to  a 
close ;  but  he  readily  renewed  his  promise,  and  it  gives  additional 
interest  to  this  poem  to  know,  that  it  employed  his  mind  almost  in 
his  last  hoifrs.  In  1807,  it  appeared,  together  with  ''Sir  Eustace 
Grey,"  the  "  Birth  of  Flattery,"  and  other  poems.  Three  years 
afterwards,  appeared  the  ''The  Borough;"  this  was  succeeded  in 
1812  by  the  "Tales  in  Verse,"  and  in  1819  by  the  "Tales  of  the 
Hall,"  the  last  of  his  publications. 

It  has  been  already  intimated,  that  there  is  a  remarkable  difier- 
ence  between    Crabbe's  early  poems,  and  those  of  his  maturer 
years :  both  have  defects  and  excellencies  of  their  own;  the  first 
are  far  superior  to  the  later  ones  in  polished  beauty  of  versification, 
'  while  they  are  less  marked  by  those  traits,  which  distinguish  him 
from  most  of  the  other  poets  of  his  country.     The  circumstances, 
which  gave  a  sad  and  distorted  colouring  to  his  early  views  of  life 
and  manners,  tended  very  strongly  to  impair  the  efiect  of  his  first 
productions ;  they  excite  our  feelings  less  powerfiilly,  because  we' 
know  that  the  misery  is  partly  of  his  own  making.     If  a  man 
choose  the  shady  side  of  the  way,  he  will  naturally  find  occasion  to 
complain  of  the  absence  of  the  sunbeams ;  but  he  will  surely  meet 
with  little  sympathy  from  those,  who  feel  that  there  is  no  necessity 
for  walkmg  in  the  dark.     In  the  long  interval  which  elapsed  before 
his  re-appearance  as  a  writer,  his  circumstances  had  become  ma- 
terially altered  for  the  better,  and  his  views  and  feeUngs  had  under- 
gone a  corresponding  change:  he  was  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  com^ 
tent  fortune;  assiduously  engaged  in  that  discharge  of  duty,  which 
brings  with  it  an  exceeding  great  reward,  and  possessed  of  some 
leisure  to  devote  to  that  study  of  mankind,  which  can  only  be  pur- 
sued by  the  contented  and  tne  tranquil.     The  miserable  man,  in- 
stead of  studying  others,  dwells  upon  his  own  impulses  and  feelings, 
and  from  these  infers  how  others  think  and  act  and  feel ;  and  there 
are  few  who  do  not  wonder  at  the  alterations  in  the  aspect  of  Uie 
world  around  them,  as  their  spirits  rise  or  fall.  Mr^  Craobe  is  said 
to  have  remarked,  that  he  derived  less  pleasure  from  the  contem- 
plation of  a  beautiful  prospect,  than  from  standing  in  the  l%hway, 
to  watch  the  faces  of  the  passers  by ;  and  the  remark,  we  think, 
serves  to  afford  an  explanation  of  the  character  of  his  later  writings. 


Bitm9*  and  CrMe's  Pfmtry.  113 

Nalmi  beauty  exoHes  but  a  gmaU.  share  of  his  onthusiasin ;  it  is 
rtea  £>r  him  to  dwell  on  any  iovely  scene^  though  he  occasionally 
dofioribea  those  of  an  f^posite  character  with  great  vividness :  with 
the  exception  of  the  ocean,  with  which  many  of  the  associations  of 
his  childhood  were  connected,  and  whose  changing  aspects  he  por- 
trays with  remarkable  force  of  colouring,  the  grand  and  beautiful  in 
nature  have  few  charms  for  him.  Motives, — ^feeUngs, — passions, — 
all  thi^  relates  to  human  character  and  action^ — ^these  are  the  points 
wjiich  he  seizes  on  with  a  master's  hand,  and  unfolds  with  a  stem 
eo^gy  and  tnitii,  which  convince  us  that  he  is  engaged  with.no 
creations  of  fimcy,  but  is  describing  what  he  has  actually  seen  and 
stndied.  No  English  poet  since  the  time  of  Shakspeare  has  painted 
those  diversities  of  character,  which  one  meets  in  the  ordinary 
intercourse  of  life,  with  equal  fidelity  or  with  equal  effect.  He  sees 
them  .not  through  a  distorted  medium,  nor  within  the  shade  of  in» 
tervening  objects:  he  has  obtained  that  point  of  philosophical  ele- 
vation, neither  so  lofty  as  to  confuse  the  sight,  nor  so  low  as  tp 
oonfiae  it,  where  every  object  appears  in  a  true  light  and  in  its  just 
proporti(ms ;  the  results  of  his  observation  are  neither  thii;igs  of 
speculation  nor  of  fancy,  but  the  strong,  distinct,  vivid  portraitures 
of  classes  of  our  race.  ^^-^  ,^ 

:Mr.  Grabbe  is  certainly  entitled  to  the  praise  of  a  reformer., 
Before  his  day,  no  poet  would  have  dreamed. of  resorting  to  humble 
life  for.  any  thing  beyond  a  theme  of  ludicrous  caricatijpre,  or  the 
personages  of  a  Beggar!s  Opera.    Even  at  the  present  tune,  critics 
are  apt  to. shake  their  heads  with  looks  of  peculiar  wisdom,  when 
they  come  in  contact  with  such  innovations:  they  are  willing  to 
admit  that  *  The  Borough '  is  well  enough  in  its  way,  but  deem  the 
effiHTt  to  invest  such  subjects  with  poetical  attraction  as  hopeless  as 
to  draw  the  living  waters  from  the  rock.    The  j^ts  themselves 
have  yielded  to  this  prejudice,  and,  instead  of  copymg  from  nature, 
when  they  wish  to  introduce  a  peasant,  have  made  him  as  unKke 
reality,  as  is  the  waxen  image  to  the  animated  frame ;  the  man  of 
their  .creation  has  no  affinity  with  merely  mortal  flesh  and  blood. 
We  might  as  well  expect  in  real  life  to  meet  a  phcenix,  as  one  of 
their  sentimental  swains,  musing  in  rapture  as  he  goes  forth  to  his 
daily  task,  or  following  the  plough  with  unutterable  joy  and  glory. 
We  know  that  there  is  enough  in  humble  life  which  has  no  claims 
to  the  title  of  poetical,  and  so  there  is  in  every  other  condition ; 
but  we  are  not  sure,  that  the  materials  of  poetry  are  not  more 
abundant  in  a  lowly,  than  in  an  elevated  sphere ;  for  feeling  is  there 
unfettered  by  those  conventional  restraints,  which  operate  like  law 
on  natural  freedom:,  the  stem  rebuke  of  opinion,  which  has  as 
much  power  over  those  who  move  in  the  elevated  social  walks,  as 
the  eye  of  the  keeper  over  the  madman,  loses  its  authority;  passion 
walks  abroad  without  control,  aud  the  reluctant  step  of  the  slave  is 
exchanged,  for  the  free  and  elastic  movements  ,of  the  mountaineer. 
So  it  is  with  the  utterance  of  deep  emotions ;  the  natural  expression 

voir.jii.  (1834.)  NO.  I.  I 


H4  SmM*  4uut  Crabhe'€  Poetry, 

of  feeling  is  never  vulgar^  and  tliMe  iviio  deem  it  aO|  Aem  aotf  that 
they  do  not  know  what  they  oondemn.  When  Soott,  in  his  to- 
mances,  puts  the  most  energetic  and  affecting  language  into  the 
mouths  of  his  milettered  personages,  he  is  entirely  true  to  natuse ; 
the  gipsy's  stem  execration  of  the  vain  and  unfeeling  Bertram^  the 
language  of  Edie  Ochiltree,  in  the  fearful  night  at  Halket-head,-*- 
the  eloquence  mik  which  the  rude  and  generoas  HigMamd  outlaw 
pours  out  the  ^notions  of  his  inmost  heart, — ^who  can  for  a  moment 
douht  that  these  are  natural  ?  On  the  contrary,  it  is  nothing  but 
their  truth  which  is  the  secret  of  dieir  power ;  and  the  same  sim- 
p^citj  and  truth  are  the  only  ageats  which  produce  the  wonders 
Attributed  to  Indian  eloquence. 

It  is  true  thaft  the  poet,  who  confines  himself  to  the  eschibition  of 
humble  life  merely,  can  hardly  expect  a  willing  audience.  Our  ki«- 
terest  is  so  much  absorbed  by  the  f(»rtunes  of  the  great,  that  it 
seems  almost  like  presumption  to  ask  it  for  the  little ;  the  writers 
cf  romance  have  been  well  aware  of  this  prepossession,  and  have 
employed  it  for  their  own  purposes :  we  see  tlieir  heroes  decorated 
with  all  the  ornaments  of  rank  and  accomplishments  and  tide,  and 
bow  down  to  them,  as  a  matter  of  course.  Mr.  Burke  says  that 
this  is  natural ;  it  certainly  is  second  nature.  Perhaps  the  world 
will  in  time  grow  wise  enough  to  reserve  that  admiration  for  the 
exalted  qualities  of  the  heart  and  intellect,  which  has  hitherte  been 
lavished  on  adventitious  ones ;  but  that  miUenium  has  not  yet 
begun.  Undoubtedly,  the  distinctions  which  social  life  in&llibly 
creates  are  not  to  be  disregarded,  but  they  may  be  seen  with  a 
more  just  and  equal  eye ;  the  observer  of  human  nature  need  Bot 
forget  the  high,  while  contemplating  the  lowly ;  but  he  will  do  well 
to  look  abroad,  when  the  oudines  of  the  trees  and  mountains  are 
distinctly  marked  on  the  clear  blue  sky,  and  not  merely  when  they 
are  magnified  bv  the  gorgeous  drapery  of  mist.  When  all  the  ex- 
halations of  prejudice  and  of  fashion  shall  have  passed  away,  the 
moral  interest  will  be  more  equally  distributed  among  the  diflkrent 
conditions  of  life.  The  simple  energy  and  truth  of  Crabbe  will  be 
more  valued  by  the  many,  dian  they  have  been  heretofore;  if  his 
intellectual  vision  does  not,  like  that  of  the  most  glorious  of  the 
sons  of  light,  comprehend  all  space,  it  will  be  acknowledged  to 
be  keen,  wide,  and  faithfol.  Shakspeare,  from  his  watch-tower, 
caught  every  change  of  many-coloured  life ;  the  great  volume  of  our 
nature  was  wide  open  before  him ;  and  whether  he  unveils  the 
humble  bosom,  or  describes  the  fierce  struggles  of  jealousy,  am- 
bition or  remorse,  or  the  sorrow  quickened  into  madness  of  the 
Credulous  old  king,  no  one  ever  thought  cf  doubting  that  the  por- 
traiture was  real.  Crabbe  generally  aspired  to  no  such  wide  extent 
of  observation,  though,  when  he  has  attempted  it,  his  success  is 
complete ;  he  saw  and  studied  all  the  beings  around  him  with  no 
less  interest  and  care  than  he  pursued  his  researches  into  the  se- 
crets of  inanimate  nature ;   and  what  he  undertakes  to  describe. 


SkperMtioM  9f  Seotlmtd,  115 

aeitiMT  Scott  nor  Sluikspeare  oould  haive  painted  better.  His  pur- 
pose is  a  moral  one;  he  never  aims  to  dazzle  or  to  please;* he 
conceals  no  defect^  softens  no  deformity,  and  aims  not  to  exagge- 
catc  a  single  beauty ;  he  makes  few  sacrifices  on  the  altar  of  fas- 
tidioos  taste :  whoever  admires  him,  admires  him  for  his  plain  truth 
and  manly  power. 

For  many  years  before  his  death,  Mr.  Crabbe  underwent  severe 
tortures  from  the  tie  douloureuxy  and  the  rapid  approaches  of  in- 
firmity gave  warning,  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  1831,  that  the 
periiKl  ef  his  departure  was  at  hand.  ^  Mine,'  says  he,  ^  is  an  old 
man's  natural  infirmity,  and  that  same  old  man  creeps  upon  me 
more  and  more.'  Sarly  in  February  of  that  year,  he  died,  after  a 
few  days  of  great  suifering.  The  closing  scene  was  marked  by  the 
same  religious  hope,  which  had  shed  a  beautiful  lustre  over  his 
usefiil  said  pfsotracted  life.  He  retained  to  the  last,  in  the  intervals 
of  pain;  that  calnmess  and  serenity,  which  viewed  without  terror 
Ae  event  which  he  felt  to  be  approaching;  and  he  exhibited 
tiiroaghoiit  that  interest  in  others,  which  had  bound  many  hearts 
to  bis.  The  testimonies  ot  respect,  that  were  freely  paid  to  his 
memory  by  the  people  of  his  neighbourhood,  were  of  that  character, 
whidi  nothing  but  the  loss  of  a  good  man  would  call  forth,  and 
jiothing  but  i^ectionate  ven^ation  would  bestow. 

"We  ought  not  to  omit  to^^'otice  the  manner  in  which  the  life  of 
Mr.  Crabbe  has  been  TecojgQ  ^^  his  son.  He  formed  the  plan  of 
-prmring  a  biography,  so;^  ^^  previous  to  his  father's  death, 
and  has  not  thought  it  expedient  to  alter  that  portion  of  it  which 
was  written  in  his  lifetime.  We  think  this  a  judicious  resolution ; 
iius  portion  of  the  work  is  undoubtedly  more  animated  and  attrac- 
tive to  the  reader,  than  it  would  have  been  had  it  been  written  in 
the  immediate  contemplation  of  the  loss.  There  is  little  reason  to 
ibar,  that  the  son  has  omitted  any  thing  particularly  worthy  of  re- 
membrance; while  he  has  certainly  collected  much,  that  would 
not  easily  have  been  accessible  to  others.  On  the  whole,  it  will  be 
regarded  as  a  just  and  gratifying  tribute  to  a  man  of  superior  genius 
and  virtue,  whose  moral  qualities  command  our  veneration,  while 
kis  poetical  abilities  will  ensure  him  a  high  and  permanent  rank 
among  the  poets  of  his  country. 


Aht.  VIII.— 2%«  Darker  Superstitions  of  Scotland.    Illustrated  from  His- 
tory and  Practice.     8vo.   London:   Whittaker  and  Co.     1834. 

An  authentic  view  of  the  superstitions  of  mankind  is  one  of  the 
most  important  branches  of  moral  history.  A  knowledge  of  their 
various  points  of  belief  evidently  goes  deep  into  a  correct  illustra- 
tion of  their  sentiments,  habits,  and  occupations.  Credulity  has 
abounded  in  every  age  and  country,  and  each  succeeding  generation 
has  departed  from  some  glaring  absurdities  only  to  take  up  others. 

I  2 


116  SupersHtians  of  Scotland. 

**  Hence,*'  as  Mr,  Dalyell  says,  "  the  powerful,  though  temporary 
sway  of  astrology,  physiognomy,  chiromancy,  and  even  the  ardour 
of  certain  pursuits  of  practical  science,  which  might  have  benefited 
learning  in  wiser  hands."  One  general  principal  may  be  laid  down, 
that  in  Christendom  credulity  was  in  past  ages  characteristic  of 
mankind,  and  incredulity  in  this ;  or  it  may  be  put  thus  in  refer- 
ence to  the  present  era,  diat  its  characteristic  credulity  is,  that  no- 
thing is  ascertained  or  to  be  credited.  Of  these  two  states  of  pre- 
vailing opinion,  the  former  is  certainly  the  most  interesting  and 
dramatic.  Warmth  and  enthusiasm,  and  all  the  drapery,  so  to 
speak,  with  which  the  mind  can  invest  any  thing,  belong  to  it ; 
whilst  coldness  and  nakedness  are  the  qualities  of  the  latter. 

Now,  were  we  to  attempt  a  careful  comparison  of  these  two  states 
of  the  human  mind,  with  the  purpose  of  balancing  their  merits  upon 
the  most  rational  grounds,  we  should  perhaps  find  that  the  fitcility 
to  believe  the  most  extraordinary  and  extravagant  nonsense  waA  not 
worse  or  so  bad  as  the  disbelief  of  the  plainest  and  simplest  truths. 
But  not  to  go  ferther  into  such  a  comparison,  and  to  keep  by  the 
business  before  us,  the  superstitions  that  characterized  the  people 
of  Scotland  were  dark,  partaking  of  the  depth  and  weight  which  a 
romantic  and  energetic  race  exhibited  in  every  developement  of 
mind.     The  mass  of  their   extravagances  in  this  way  is  rude  and 
disorderly ;  but  our  author  has  done  ito^h  to  arrange  and  systeofiize 
it.     It  will  be  found,  he  says,  tj|licM»fuidir  superstitions  originated 
partly  from  astronomy,  partly  fi'om  theoSagy,  and  partly  from  medi- 
cine.    Now,  all  these  fields,  so  open  and  ripe  with  matter  for  the 
imagination  to  work  on,  found  amongst  the  nervous  minds  in  the 
north  the  boldest  cultivators.     They  could  fathom,  soar,  and  pierce 
where  duller  eyes  could  not  open.    The  very  character  of  their  land 
and  their  climate  fed  their  powers.     The  solitude  of  their  moun- 
tains, the  mists  and  clouds  that  o'ertopt  them,  the  silence  of  their 
sleeping  lakes,  and  the  thunder  of  their  cataracts,  were  things  that 
afforded  scope  unlimited,  and  gave  strength  uncontrolled  to  all  the 
creative  energies  of  imagination.     It  is  rare  that  any  man,  though 
long  schooled  in  all  the  monotony  of  a  busy  city,  can  traverse  the 
glens  or  the  mountain-brows  of  Scotland,  where  the  clouds,  the 
boundless  waste,  the  wail  of  ocean,  or  the  roar  of  waters,  obtrude 
themselves,  with  undisturbed  influence,  without  thinking  he   sees 
and   hears  a  supernatural  power  in   them  all.     And  to  this  day 
among  such  scenes,  whither  modem  discovery  has  but  partially 
reached,  do  the  people  find  and  follow  signs  in  every  thing. 

Mr.  Dalyell  has  been  at  great  pains  to  collect  every  ^matter  that 
can  throw  light  upon  the  origin,  the  influence,  and  the  extent  of  the 
darker  superstitions  of  his  native  land.  We  shall  follow  him  in  his 
course  according  to  his  arrangement,  and  present  our  readers  with 
some  of  the  more  remarkable  extravagances  shown  us.  We  were 
going  to  be  particular  with  Mr.  Dalyell's  manner  before  entering 
upon  bis  matter;   but  the  one  is  comparatively  unimportant,  and 


Superstitions  of  Scotland,  117 

we  shall  not  do  more,  in  way  of  e:apos^  of  his  artificial  style,  than 
give  the  two  first  paragraphs  of  the  book. 

^  If  mankipd  sickening,  wasted  and  died,  while  the  secret  source  of 
corrosion  was  unseen,  the  superstition  of  darker  ages  ascribed  it  rather 
to  demoniac  agency,  than  to  distempered  organization.  When  the  fruits 
of  the  earth  were  blighted ;  or  the  work  of  patient  industry  perished ;  if 
disappointment  loured  over  the  morning  of  life,  and  its  evening  set  in 
sorrow;  such  calamities  were  charged  to  the  enmity  of  supernatural 
beings,  with  whom  credulity  associated  the  more  obnoxious  of  the  human 
race.  No  account  was  held  of  the  casualties  inseparable  from  sublunary 
dispensations ;  celestial  energies  were  forgot,  in  the  dreaded  faculties 
gratuitously  conferred  on  terrestial  creatures. 

"  The  terror  of  invisible  shafts,  exaggerated  an  insane  apprehension  of 
danger :  hope  fostered  illusion ;  nature's  immutable  ordinances  were 
neither  rendered  expletive  of  remarkable  incidents ;  nor  was  there  any 
appeal  made  to  reason,  though  matured  by  experience.  Inconsistency 
vtthinged  the  mind,  which,  in  its  disturbance,  invested  contemptible  pro- 
ducts with  miraculous  virtues ;  and  yielded  to  the  roost  extravagant 
ceremonies,  in  the  vain  confidence  of  deriving  infallible  efficacy  from 
their  practice.  Dreams  and  visions,  originating  in  a  morbid  constitution, 
were  accepted  as  divine  inspirations;  oracles  emanated  from  ebriety; 
angelic  oracles  floated  on  the  moaning  of  the  winds ;  atmospheric  corus- 
cations announced  spiritual  presence ;  destiny  was  read  in  the  stars." — 
pp.  1,  2. 

Now,  is  this  the  manner  in  which  men  converse  or  speak  ?  One 
tiling  is  certain,  that  not  while  here  below  is  such  language  theirs. 
It  belongs,  doubtless,  to  a  higher  sphere,  which  we  can  in  some  de- 
gree suppose  natural  to  Mr.  Dalyell,  from  the  length  of  time  he 
must  have  dwelt  among  unearthly  intelligences  whilst  composing 
the  work  before  us.  There  is  one  comfort,  however,  in  the  fact, 
that  though  he  starts  in  every  new  chapter  and  division  with  similar 
strides  above  our  heads,  he  gradually  comes  lowier,  till  we  soon  find 
him  on  a  level  with  ourselves.  It  seems,  therefore,  that  he  set  him- 
self every  now  and  then  to  astonish  us  with  an  exploit,  but  soon  ex- 
pended the  forced  strength  of  his  wings,  and  had  again  to  clap  them 
to  his  sides  to  repose,  and  to  recruit  for  another  display  some  time 
afterwards. 

An  evil  eye,  that  is,  the  power  of  its  malevolent  fascination,  the 
author  truly  says,  has  been  as  extensively  believed  in  as  any  ex- 
traordinary or  supernatural  influence.  He  tells  us,  that  it  is  only  a 
few  years  since  a  domestic  in  his  own  family,  having  died  of  small- 
pox, the  mother,  on  arriving  from  the  western  parts  of  Scotland,  ex- 
pressed her  conviction  that  he  had  fallen  a  victim  to  an  evil  eye. 
We  ourselves  know  of  a  woman  in  the  lowlands,  not  many  years 
ago,  whose  eye  was  so  bad,  that  a  glazier  would  not  handle  glass  in 
her  presence ;  if  she  entered  a  house  when  they  were  making  butter j 
they  would  cease  churning,  persuaded  that  otherwise  the  butter 
would  never  gather.  Nay,  so  impressed  was  she  with  the  belief  of  her 
being  possessed  of  such  an  eye,  that  she  avoided  putting  herself  in 


118  Superstitions  of  Scotland^ 

the  way  of  any  nice  operation^  lest  she  might  mar  its  success;  for 
she  was  a  highly  respectable  and  virtuous  woman.  Indeed,  we 
should  maintain  that  the  prevalent  notion  of  some  people  having 
lucky  hands,  and  that  the  first  transaction  of  a  morning  gone  inta 
with  such  persons,  ensures  prosperity  throughout  the  day,  is  just 
as  irrational  and  foolish  as  a  credulity  in  an  opposite  influence. 
We  shall  add,  that  a  rusty  nail  placed  beneath  the  chum  in  the 
case  above-motioned  was  a  sufficient  security  against  the]  old 
lady's  evil  eye.  ''In  various  ouarters,  ready  aeauiescence  yet  attends 
the  importunity  of  the  mendicant,  from  dreading  the  consequences 
of  refusal ;  and  should  an  uncouth  demeanor  and  aspect  be  con- 
joined with  his  vocation,  objects  of  interest  are  carefully  withdrawn 
from  his  gaze.  Children  have  been  thought  the  most  susceptible 
of  injury.**  But  the  best  illustrations  of  this  sort  of  fascination 
are  from  its  supposed  effect  on  the  brute  creation : — 

^  Robert  Kirk,  minister  of  Aberfoyie,  spedcs  of  the  destruction  of  that 
animal  whereon  the  eye  glances  first  in  the  momiog ;  and  he  namea  a 
man  in  his  parish,  *  who  killed  his  own  cow  after  commending  its  fatness* 
and  shot  a  hare  with  his  eyes.'  Also,  it  is  gravely  recorded,  as  a  woman 
milked  her  cow  another  *  lookit  in  ower  the  duir,  quhairvpoun  the  calf 
died  presentlie,  and  the  cow  fell  seik,  that  schoe  wold  nether  eat  ncnr  yield 
milk.'  In  describing  the  '  Devill's  Rudiments,'  which  formed  no  slight 
subject  of  apprehension  in  his  era,  King  James  specified  *  such  kinds  of 
charmes,  as  commonlie  dafte  wives  uses  for  healing  forspoken  goodes,  for 
preserving  them  from  evili  eyes,  by  knitting  rountrees  or  sundriest  kind 
of  herbes  to  the  haire  and  tailes  of  the  goodes.'  Belief  in  the  existence 
of  an  evil  eye  was  certainly  tantamount  to  credulity  in  the  power  or 
practice  of  sorcery.  One  was  amerciated  for  having  slandered  Gilbert 
Thomasoun,  saying,  that  *  the  haill  thing  that  he  did  and  luikitt  on  wold 
never  thryfe." ' — ^pp.  4,  5. 

The  rountree  is  the  mountain  ash,  and  is  still  hdd  by  some  as 
efficacious  in  repelling  evil,  and  this  may  account  for  the  preva- 
lence of  this  species  of  tree  in  the  hedges  and  gardens  connected 
with  almost  every  old  &nn  house  in  Scotland. 

"  But  in  other  countries,  the  same  superstition  assumes  a  much  more 
definite  shape,  under  the  name  of  overlooking,  eye-bitinQ,  and  fascination. 
A  certain  woman  tried  at  Youghall  in  Ireland,  in  the  year  1661,  for 
bewitching  Mary  Langdon,  denied  the  fact,  though  admitting  that  she 
might  have  overlooked  her.  Between  these,  she  said,  there  was  a  great 
difference ;  for  unless  by  touching  her,  she  could  not  have  done  her  any 
harm;  whereon  Glanvil,  the  most  credulous  of  men,  remarks,  *How 
overlooking  and  bewitching  are  distinguished  by  this  hellish  fraternity,  I 
know  not.*  Two  or  three  centuries  since,  the  Irish  spoke  of  their  chil- 
dren and  their  cattle  as  *  eye-bitten,  when  they  fell  suddenlie  sick.' 
The  commendation  of  either  was  dreaded,  unless  repelled  by  an  antidote 
from  invoking  a  blessing,  as  was  done  on  children  in  Scotland,  or  by 
spitting  on  it :  and  if  evil  followed  the  praise  of  a  horse,  the  Loi'd's 
prayer  was  whispered  in  the  animal's  right  ear.  Old  women  were 
invited  to  restore  the  health  of  fascinated  horses  by  their  prayers." — 
pp.  10,11. 


Smpcrstitioms  qf  Scotiamd.  119 

Mr.  DalyeU  traces  the  eredulity  ia  £Ei8cinaition»  m  prevalent  in 
many  eountries  and  ^ges  ;  and  then  asks  if  there  be  truly  any  ra- 
tioniu  frandation  for  that  belief.  *^  Does  the  presence  of  an  object 
unseen  produce  an  irresistible  impression  ?  or  does  it  reside  in  the 
imagination  only  ?"  He  does  not  renture  upon  a  decisive  answei, 
bat  throws  oat  some  ingenious  conjectures ;  such  as, — ^if  &scina^ 
tion  existSy.its  principle  must  be  sought  in  some  natural  cause, 
qperatii^  in  such  a  manner  on  the  person  as  to  occasion  disturb- 
ance of  the  mind. 

**  Doubtless,  certain  sensatioBs  originate  from  the  presence  of  objects 
which  never  meet  the  eye.  Our  setises  are  not  sufficiently  refined  to 
detect,  of  themselves,  the  elements,  finding  an  invisible  channel  of  trans- 
mission, though  they  may  be  discovered  and  arrested  by  foreign  auxiliaries. 
Does  not  mfecdon  spread  through  the  medium  of  a  vehicle  absolutely 
invisible,  and  after  a  mode  unknown  and  imperceptible  by  the  most 
delicate  sense  ?  The  sight,  the  hearing,  and  the  feeling,  may  be  rendered 
more  acute:  they  may  become  obtuse;  aU  the  faculties  raiybe  lulled 
in  Isngour;  and  the  sleep  of  death  extinguish  them  fop  ever,  while  the 
agcnit  esc^ipes  the  keenest  search  ^  human  scrutiny. 

**  One  region  is  salubrious  to  the  person,  and  exhilarating  to  the  mind; 
yet  the  whole  system  droops  and  decays  in  another.  The  natives  of  the 
mountains  differ  from  those  of  the  plains,  while  those  residing  amidst 
woods  and  marshes  resemble  neither. 

*•  Pestilence  is  borne  on  the  winds. 

**  At  certain  seasons,  penetrating  emanations  from  the  animal  and 
vegetable  world  occupy  the  atmosphefe,  Su¥ely  for  the  conservative  or 
destructive  designs  of  natare.  The  reciprocal  mfluenoe  of  living  beings 
on  each  other,  though  far  asunder,  is  decided,  though  the  medium  of 
connnunication  be  unknown ;  domesticated  animals  of  prey,  and  those 
empk)yed  in  field  sports,  illustrate  to  mankind  in  society,  what  is  advancing 
constantly  in  the  natural  state.  Thus,  quadrupeds,  birds,  even  insects, 
seem  to  be  paralyzed  for  the  moment  by  some  hidden  external  impression, 
never  to  be  discovered  but  by  the  demonstration  of  its  effects ;  for  the 
means  of  detection  are  not  enjoyed  by  man.  Whether  it  be  in  stimulating 
effluvia,  whether  in  a  narcotic  vapour,  or  in  some  other  quality  indescri- 
bable, nothing  is  established  better,  than  the  transmission  of  impressions 
through  invisible  means. 

'*  Sympathy  and  antipathy,  so  familiar  by  name,  yet  so  little  under- 
stood, are  alike  inexplicable.  If  the  attraction  and  repulsion  of  inanimate 
matter  yet  elude  explanation,  it  may  be  safe  to  conclude,  that  the  combi- 
nadon  of  physics  and  ethics  have  been  insufficiently  appreciated,  in  hypo- 
theses on  the  cause  of  sympathetic  affections. 

*'  It  is  common,  in  this  country,  for  one  to  exclaim,  when  shuddering 
involuntarily,  that  a  human  footstep  crosses  his  grave.  On  the  continent 
of  Europe,  a  similar  impression,  whereby  mankind  are  struck  with  extra- 
ordinary perturbation,  has  been  ascribed  to  the  glance  or  the  vicinity  oL 
a  murderer.  This  is  defined  perculsio  ew  ^omicidiB  prcesentia  aborta^ 
or  man-^laehtt  in  the  vernacular  dialect  of  Friesland  and  Westphalia,  to 
which  it  was  more  peculiar.  Instead  of  analyzing  its  precise  nature, 
the  source  oi  it  was  sought  in  the  machinations  of  Satan.  The  author 
has  not  heard  any  example  of  the  subsistence  of  the  like  in  Scotland." — 
pp.  15 — 18. 


120  S^tperatitiona  of  Scotland. 

Fascination  was  by  the  laws  of  England  comprehended  along 
with  sorcery  as  a  capital  offence ;  bat  never  in  the  Scottish  code. 

Invocation  is  the  next  matter  considered  by  the  author ;  which 
instead  of  being  confined  to  God,  has  been  extended  to  men  flikid 
to  demons.  Under  this  head  he  considers  Incantations y  or  certain 
words  arranged  in  a  metrical  form^  which  the  ancients  and  the 
moderns  have  assumed  and  trusted  in.  Nor  were  these  always 
used  as  a  watchword  to  the  devil,  to  cause  him  to  do  wonders. 
They  were  sometimes  intended  as  pious  exercises.  ^An  invocation 
interrupted  became  abortive.  Good  was  expected  from  this  exer- 
cise, but  evil  from  Maledictions.  Alas !  how  varied  and  abundant 
have  these  been,  according  to  the  folly,  the  passions,  the  malevo- 
lence of  mankind.  And  the  superstitious  when  unable  to  account 
for  misfortunes,  if  anxious  to  find  a  definite  cause^  traced  them  to 
the  malice  of  some  one  of  their  neighbours. 

"  Mawse  Gourlay,  spouse  of  Andrew  Wilson,  quarrelling  with  Mar- 
garet Robertson,  Agnes  Finnie*8  daughter,  called  her  ane  witche's  get,  to 
the  quhilk  disdainefull  word, — Margaret  Robertson,  in  grit  furie  and 
raidge,  maid  this  answer — *•  Gif  I  be  ane  witche's  get,  the  devill  ryve  the 
saull  out  of  ye  befoir  I  come  again :'  according  to  the  quhilk  crewall  and 
devillische  imprecatione, — Andro  Wilsone, — within  auchthouris  therefdr, 
be  your  sorcerie  and  witchcraft  practeizet  be  yow  wpon  him,  be  your 
dochteris  instigatione, — ^became  frenatik,  and  ran  stark  mad,  his  eyeis 
standing  out  in  his  head  in  maist  feirfuU  and  terrible  maner,— evir  utter- 
ing thir  words,  as  his  ordiner  and  continuall  speiches  pronuncit  in  that 
his  madnes,  '  the  devill  ryve  the  saule  out  of  me  I '  " — ^pp.  34, 35. 

The  practice  of  Maledictions  is  most  strikingly  proved  to  have 
existed  in  very  early  times,  by  the  story  of  Balak  inviting  Balaam 
to  come  and  curse  the  Israelites.  In  the  year  1661,  the  maledic- 
tion of  parents  was  rendered  a  capital  ofience :  and  assuredly  it  is 
a  very  heinous  thing.  Now-a-days  the  church  takes  cognizance 
of  such  daring  immorality. 

On  the  effects  of  the  Touch,  we  shall  give  a  few  examples,  as 
handed  down  to  us,  and  believed  in.  By  a  superstition  dangerous 
to  the  innocent,  and  long  prevalent  in  Scotland,  blood  springing 
from  a  murdered  person  at  the  touch  of  another,  was  held  deci- 
sive of  his  guilt.  Sometimes  the  innocent  underwent  the  test  fear-^ 
lessly  to  their  destruction. 

*'  A  man  and  his  sister  were  at  variance :  he  died  suddenly,  and  his 
body  was  found  in  his  own  house  naked,  with  a  wound  on  the  face,  but 
bloodless.  '  Althoe  many  of  the  nychtbours  in  the  toun  came  into  the 
hous  to  sie  the  dead  corps,  yett  schoe  never  offered  to  come ;  howbeit 
hir  dwelling  was  nixt  adjacent  therto :  nor  had  schoe  soe  much  as  any 
setming  grteff  for  his  death.  But  the  minister  and  baillifes  of  the  toun 
taking  great  suspitione  of  her,  in  respect  of  her  carriadge,  commanded 
that  schoe  sould  be  brought  in.  But  when  schoe  come,  schoe  come 
trembling  all  the  way  to  the  hous,  schoe  refused  to  come  nigh  to  the 
corps,  or  tuitche,  saying,  that  schoe  never  tuiched  a  dead  corps  in  hir 
life.     But  being  earnestlie  entreated  by  the  minister  and  bailliffes,  and 


SuperetUUmi  of  Seatkmd.  I2l 

her  brother^B  fnends,  who  was  killed,  that  achoe  wold  but  tuitch  the 
^corpe  softlie,  echoe  granted  to  doe  it.  But  befoir  schoe  did  it,  the  Bone 
Bohyneiiig  in  at  the  hous,  schoe  ezprest  herself  thus :  *  humblie  desjrring, 
as  Uie  Lord  made  the  sone  to  schyne  and  give  light  into  that  house,  that 
also  he  wyld  give  light  in  discovering  that  murder : '  and  with  these 
woordes,  schoe  tuitching  the  wound  of  the  dead  man  verie  softlie,  it  being 
whyt  and  clein,  without  any  spot  of  blood  or  the  like ;  yet,  imediatlie 
while  her  finger  was  vpone  it,  the  blood  rushed  out  of  it,  to  the  great  ad- 
miratione  of  all  the  beholders,  whoe  tooke  it  as  ane  discoverie  of  the  mur- 
ther,  according  to  her  awne  prayer." — ^p.  39. 

Of  cure  by  the  touchy  the  most  prevalent  practice  was  that  by 
royalty. 

'*  When  queen  Elizabeth  practised  so  eminent  a  prerogative,  all  were 
allowed  to  approach  her — ^young  and  old,  rich  and  poor,  indiscriminately. 
But  the  surgeons  of  the  household  received  the  names  of  the  patients  pre- 
viously, and  determined  whether  they  were  truly  scrofulous;  which  being 
communicated  to  the  queen,  she  appointed  a  time  for  the  ceremony, 
without  preferring  any  day  in  particular.  After  she  had  prepared  herself 
for  it  by  religious  fizercises,  the  patients  were  introduced.  Then  the 
liturgy  having  been  read,  prayers  said,  and  a  discourse  delivered  on  the 
last  chapter  of  Mark,  when  reaching  verse  fourteenth,  relative  to  the  in- 
credulity of  the  disciples,  she  applied  her  bare  hands  to  the  parts  diseased. 
The  patients  now  receded  during  farther  reading,  until  completing  the 
ceremonies.  At  these  words  in  the  first  chapter  of  John,  '  that  was  the 
true  light  which  lighteth  every  man  that  cometh  into  the  world,'  the 
queen  arose,  and  each  patient  having  been  brought  back,  she  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  on  the  distempered  part,  with  a  gold  coin  attached  to  a 
ribbon,  and  delivered  it  to  be  suspended  from  the  neck.  Each  then  re- 
ceded again,  the  remainder  of  the  scripture  was  read,  and  the  queen,  with 
)ler  attendants,  having  knelt  in  prayer,  the  patients  departed,  congratu- 
lating each  other  on  their  cure." — ^pp.  63,  64. 

£ut  in  Scotland^  Charles  I.  seems  to  have  on  his  visits  con* 
ducted  this  branch  of  his  prerogative  on  the  largest  scale.  Nay, 
in  a  subject  it  was  accounted  treasonable  to  assume  the  ofBce.  It 
does  not  appear,  indeed,  that  anterior  to  that  monarch's  reign,  the 
function  was  ever  executed  in  Scotland ;  but  in  England  it  is  re* 
ferred  to  the  age  of  Edward  the  Confessor. 

The  supposed  virtue  of  spittle  is  thus  shortly  and  strongly 
placed  before  the  reader : — 

**  The  properties  of  the  human  saliva  have  enjoyed  singular  notice  in 
history,  sacred  and  profane.  Among  the  ancient  pagans,  Pliny  devotes 
an  entire  chapter  to  its  efficacy,  as  an  antidote  to  fascination,  as  a  pre- 
servative from  contagion,  as  counteracting  poisons — and  in  pugilistic  en- 
counters as  aggravating  the  vehemence  of  a  blow.  With  equal  confidence, 
the  modems  spit  into  their  hands  when  they  fight — and  spit  under  the 
humiliation  of  discomfiture :  they  spit  on  money  received  in  traffic :  on 
tfaxowing  aside  the  combings  of  their  hair :  on  wounds  in  the  flesh,  and 
on  thebite  of  venemous  snakes  to  cure  it.  They  spit  as  a  token  of  the 
most  sovereign  contempt :  And  in  one  of  the  remotest  Scottish  islets. 
yt^yig  into  the  grave  forms  part  bf  the  funeral  ceremony." 


'*  The  most  noted  application  of  the  human  aalivA  by  the  ancients^  wa8 
for  the  restoration  of  8ight.-^So  many  cures  are  confidently  averred  and 
recorded,  that  it  would  be  a  most  interesting  to|MC  of  investigation  whe- 
ther any  solvent,  sanative,  or  medicament,  lost  to  modem  oculists,  was 
not  known  of  old.  But  that  facility  with  which  the  testimony  of  any  un- 
natural condition  or  miraculous  event  has  been  always  at  command,  can- 
not be  overlooked  by  the  sagacious.  No  superiority  can  be  claimed  fiEir 
either  ancients  or  modems  in  this  re^ct.  Thence  it  may  be  presumed, 
that  the  cure  of  blindness  has  been  too  frequently,  too  easily,  and  ppft- 
cipitately  ascribed  to  a  fallacious  source. — Those  who  pronounce  as  &- 
miliarly  on  the  precise  interference  of  Heaven,  as  if  they  had  shared  in 
the  Divine  counsels,  are  not  the  most  pious  of  men." — pp.  71 — 74. 

Mr.  Dalydl  remarks  that  the  simplest  ingredients  were  con- 
verted to  sttperstitiouis  purposes ;  such  as  water  and  salt:  and 
either  from  their  intrinsic  virtues^  or  such  as  are  merely  fanciiut. 
As  to  water^  the  medicinal  quality  of  certain  springs  was  enough  to 
establish  its  sacred  character  ;  whilst  the  manner  in  which  the  ima- 
gination regards  this  beautiful,  simple,  and  wonderful  element  could 
not  but  gain  a  fieivour  due  to  a  supernatural  principle.  In  Scotland, 
south  running  water  was  endowed  with  extraordinary  virtues.  But 
salt  is  the  most  essential  ingredient  in  superstitious  ceremonies ; 
and  it  is  to  this  day  used  in  certain  instances,  but  chiefly  as  an  an- 
tidote to  demoniac  influence.  He  does  not  however,  so  far  as  we 
have  discovered,  take  notice  of  the  practice  still  prevalent  in  Scot- 
land^ of  putting  a  saucer  filled  with  salt  on  the  breast  of  a  corpse, 
till  the  moment  it  be  shut  up  in  the  coffin :  the  meaning  of  the 
observance  is  to  deter  evil  spirits  approaching  with  un^ballowed 
purposes. 

In  the  chapter  on  amulets,  the  author  says  they  were  emjdoyed 
as  antidotes,  palliatives,  and  cures.  Some  appear  to  have  been 
things  just  as  they  came  simply  from  the  hands  of  the  Creator ; 
others  were  evidently  the  production  of  homan  art ;  and  perhaps 
both  underwent  a  mystical  process  to  impregnate  them  with  virtue. 
Among  those  held  in  greatest  repute  in  Scotland  was  the  adder 
stone,  as  a  charm  in  a  multitude  of  different  cases.  It  is  known  to 
be  an  ancient  bead.  But  we  ourselves  have,  not  moiv  years  ago, 
known  adder  stones  to  be  used  to  cure  the  bite  of  an  adder.  Those 
that  we  refer  to  were  black  rings,  made  of  some  pebble^  yet  the 
common  country  people  tell,  that  on  a  particular  day  in  the  year 
the  adders  congregate  and  set  about  making  this  stone  in  a  very 
mystical  style,  and  in  the  west,  it  is  a  usual  saying,  hence  derived^ 
when  a  knot  of  pec^le  are  seen  together,  to  say  to  them,  "  Y'are 
makin*  an  adder  stone,  I  see." 

The  author  next  treats  learnedly  of  propitiatory  saeiifiees  and 
charms,  and  justly  gives,  as  the  utmost  limits  of  human  superotition, 
human  sacriflce,  which  certain  innocent  ceremotties  practised  kt 
Scotland  perhaps  indicate  to  have  at  one  time  been  common  there, 
though  of  this  there  is  no  direct  evidence.  But  we  cannot  enter 
into  this  dreadful  subject.     Of  propitiatory  charms  nothings  is  so 


Skptr$tki(m9  of  Seotimd.  133 

intererting  in  cbip jo'ieal  rap^rsfdtion  as  the  projeets  hazarded  for  al- 
iDTing  the  }ore  or  subduing  the  virtue  of  the  softer  sex.  Two  qx- 
pecBents  were  principally  practised — ^flraming  inscriptions^  and  giv- 
ing philtres  or  amatory  potions.  By  the  last-mentioned  method,  en- 
chantment, it  was  presumed,  could  be  introduced  into  the  corporeal 
frame^  in  the  shape  of  sustenance^  or  along  with  it. 

**  Sir  John  Colquhoun,  of  Luss,  bad  married  Lady  Lilias  Graham,  eldest 
daughter  of  John,  fourth  Earl  of  Montrose,  «nd  sister  of  the  celebrated 
marquis  bearing  that  title  previous  to  the  year  1633.  Having  received 
Lady  Katherine,  his  sister-in-law,  as  an  imoate  of  his  family  at  *  tk^isdew,' 
he  cast  the  eyes]  of  unlawful  affection  upon  her :  and  not  forgetting  the^ 
ordinary  arts  of  seduction,  which  require  little  tuition,  he  ^  in  craftie  and 
politique  manner,  first  insinuat  himselff  be  subtile  and  entyseing  speiches,' 
ixU;o  her  favour.  But  the  delusion  of  these  proving  ineffectual,  the  se- 
ducer availed  himself  of  the  mystical  expedients  then  in  vogue,  to  spread  a 
new  snare  for  her  virtue  with  necromantic  aid.  He  had  a  servant,  an 
adept  in  occult  charms,  whom,  among  others,  he  consulted  on  his  {voject; 
and  *  procureit  from  him,  ane  necromancer,  certain  philtra,  or  poysokies,. 
or  poysonable  and  inchantit  toakynes  of  love :  speeiallie  ane  jewall  of 
gold,  set  with  divers  pretious  diamantis,  or  rubei^,  quhilk  was  poysonetor 
iatoxicat  be  the  said  necromancer,  and  had  the  secreit  and  devillische 
force  of  allureing  and  forceing  the  persone  ressauer  thairof,  to  expose  hir 
hodie,  fame,  and  ciedeit,  to  the  will  and  unlauchfull  plesour  of  the  gevar 
and  prorpyner  thairof."  Having  obtained  this  marvellous  talisman,  the 
seducer  did  not  neglect  to  profit  by  its  occult  qualities :  nor  do  these  seem 
to  have  been  exaggerated,  judging  at  least  by  the  issue, — for  after  having 
delivered  the  'Jewell  of  gold  set  with  the  said  rubcis  and  diamondis, 
devillischlie  intoxicat  and  inchantit,  as  said  is, — scho  was  so  bewitchit 
and  transpoirtit,  that  scho  had  no  power  of  hirselff,  to  refuse  the  said  Sir 
John  Colquhoim.* 

"  After  carrying  on  their  intrigue  at  home,  the  parties  eloped  to  London^ 
where  they  continued  to  live  together :  the  aggressor  was  outlawed,  for  he 
prudently  avoided  exposing  himself  te  a  criminal  trial,  his  offence  being 
aggravated  by  the  affinity  of  his  paramour.  Whatever  might  have  been* 
tike  consequences  in  respect  to  him,  the  tenor  of  a  charge  against  the 
necremattcer,  his  aeoompliee,  renders  it  probabie  that  sentence  would 
have  foUowed  oonviction."-«-pp.  2I0«  211. 

Itt  our  notices  of  new  works  in  this  number  of  our  Review^  will 
befovmd  that  of  a  tragedy  founded  on  the  story  told  of  the  Countess 
of  Essex,  who  divorced  her  husband  in  the  reign  of  James  I.  of 
England,  and  was  alleged  to  cast  an  amorous  eye  on  the  Viscount 
Rochester.  Two  persons,  Mrs.  Turner  and  Dr.  Forman,  combined 
to  enchant  the  Viscount^s  affection  toward  her. 

Relative  to  marriage,  superstitions  have  been  innumerable^  some 
for  promoting  the  harmony  of  the  wedded  pair^  many  for  ensuring 
that  most  decisive  test  of  divine  approval — ^the  gift  of  progeny. 
Various  expedients  antecedent  to  the  matrimonial  union  by  way  of 
divinatioii  were  resorted  to. 

-  ^  Some  were  practised  in  solitude,  amidst  the  darkness  and  silence  of 
the  midnight  hour ;  the  future  spouse  was  expected  to  check  a  thread 


1 24  SupergHtioni  of  Scotland. 


while  unwinding  from  a  clue,~-or  during  ceremonies  before  a  mirror, 
an  apparition  of  either  helpmate  should  present  itself,  along  with  the 
reflected  image  of  the  querent. — Water  and  fire  were  resorted  to  alike  : 
nuts  were  burnt  together  or  singly :  so  that,  flaming  in  concert  or  start- 
ing apart,  an  augury  might  be- formed  of  the  love  or  aversion  of  either 
sex  subsisting  unseen. 

"  In  Scotland,  two  crosses  were  fabricated  for  either  party,  and  laid 
in  water.  The  suitor's  left  shoe  being  cast  over  the  house,  afforded  a 
propitious  omen  if  falling  towards  it;  if  falling  from  itj  he  should  be 
disappointed. 

''  Astrology  has  ever  had  an  important  influence  over  the  affiairs  6f 
mankind.  Their  destinies  have  been  believed  to  be  dependent  on  the 
celestial  deities  represented  by  the  orbs  of  the  firmament.  The  canon 
law  anxiously  prohibited  observance  of  the  moon  as  regulating  the  period 
of  marriage ;  nor  was  any  regard  to  be  paid  to  certain  days  of  the  year 
for  ceremonies.  If  the  Luctn^,  of  the  ancients  be  identified  with  Diana, 
it  was  not  unreasonable  to  court  her  care  of  the  parturient,  by  selecting 
the  time  deemed  most  propitious.  The  strength  of  the  ecclesiastical  in- 
terdiction does  not  seem  to  have  prevailed  much  in  Scotland.  Friday, 
which  was  consecrated  to  a  northern  divinity,  has  been  deemed  more 
favourable  for  the  union.  In  the  southern  districts  of  Scotland,  and  in 
the  Orkney  Islands,  the  inhabitants  preferred  the  increase  of  the  moon 
for  it.  Auspicious  consequences  were  anticipated,  in  other  parts,  from 
its  celebration  at  full  moon.  Good  fortune  depended  so  much  on  the 
increase  of  that  luminary,  that  nothing  important  was  undertaken  during 
its  wane."— pp.  284—286. 

The  following  are  highly  interesting  and  attractive  passages^  for 
the  length  of  which  we  need  not  apologise^  at  least  to  our  readers 
of  the  tender  sex : — 

'*  No  satisfactory  elucidation  of  the  origin,  signification,  or  use  of  the 
symbols  interchanged  at  marriage,  can  be  gleaned  from  antiquity.  Nei- 
ther can  the  sources  or  the  purpose  of  several  concomitant  jocular  cus- 
toms, sports  and  festivities,  be  discovered.  Some  hold  the  ring  an  earnest, 
others  deem  it  a  pledge  of  fidelity.  It  was  put  on  the  fourth  finger, 
because  th^  older  anatomists,  or  the  superficial  of  the  superstitious, 
affirmed,  that  a  vein  communicated  immediately  from  that  organ  to  the 
heart :  and  this  is  recognised  by  the  canon  law.  The  saxpe  opinion,  bow- 
ever,  is  very  ancient ;  it  is  ascribed  to  the  Egyptians  and  to  the  earlier 
Greeks.  An  amatory  charm  consisted  in  drawing  a  circle  with  blood 
from  the  ring  finger,  on  a  wafer  which  was  afterwards  consecrated. 
Other  ceremonies  having  intervened,  half  of  it  was  taken  by  the  person 
enamoured,  and  half  pulverized  was  administered  to  the  object  of  affec- 
tion, for  the  purpose  of  inspiring  mutual  love.  It  was  essential  that  the 
marriage  ring  should  be  round.  Marriage  with  a  diamond  ring  foreboded' 
evil :  because  the  interruption  of  the  circle  aagured  that  the  reciprocal 
regard  of  the  spouses  might  not  be  perpetual.     Hence  a  plain  and  perfect 

golden  circle  is  now  invariably  in  use :.  and  it  is  considered  ominous  in 
Gotland  ever  to  part  with  the  marriage  ring.  A  scurrilous  author  of 
the  seventeenth  century  denies  the  use  of  the  ring  in  Scotland, — a  fEbct 
scarcely  credible,  imless  it  had  been  abandoned  temporarily  from  the 
abhorrence  entertained  of  ceremonies  and  symbols  by  the  rigid  presby- 


AtpertiHtums  of  Scotlmtd.  195 

terians.  '  They  cliristen  without  the  cross,  marry  witkout  the  ring, 
reeeire  the  sacnimeiit  without  reverence,  and  bury  without  divine  service. 
They  keep  no  holydays,  nor  acknowledge  any  daint  but  Saint  Andrew, 
who,  they  say,  got  that  honour  by  presenting  Christ  with  an  oaten  cake 
after  his  forty  days'  fast.'  They  think  it  impossible  to  lose  the  way  to 
heaven  if  they  can  but  leave  Rome  behind  them. 

**•  The  virtues  ascribed  to  a  circle  may  have  determined  some  of  the 
superstitions  regarding  the  figure  of  the  marriage  ring. 

'^  The  ring  was  symbolical  of  union.  Hence  Queen  Elizabeth  said  to 
Secretary  Maitland  in  the  course  of  a  negociation,  *  I  am  maryed  alreddy 
to  the  realme  of  England,  when  I  wes  crownit,  with  thb  ring  quhilk  i 
beir  continewallie  in  taikin  thairof.' 

**  According  to  Moresin,  women  previously  avoided  appearing  unveiled 
for  several  days  after  marriage :  but  in  his  time  they  had  become  bolder, 
for  they  showed  themselves  immediately.  Formerly  also,  in  some  dis- 
tricts, when  the  bride  went  bareheaded  to  church,  she  remained  so  during 
the  day  of  her  nuptials,  and  covered  herself  ever  after.  Veiling  in  mar- 
riage has  perplexed  the  canonists  as  much  as  the  use  of  the  ring ;  nor  is 
the  reason  assigned  for  it  in  the  Decretalia  satisfactory :  namely,  that  it  is 
a  token  of  constant  conjugal  subjection.  Tertullian,  one  of  the  most 
authoritative  of  the  fathers  of  the  church,  devotes  a  copious  treatise  to 
the  use  of  the  veil.  The  customs  of  Scotland  may  have  vacillated  ac- 
cording to  the  religion  professed  by  the  inhabitants.  Covering  the  head 
or  veiling  the  countenance,  has  been  always  an  important  part  of  the 
rites  and  ceremonies,  civil  and  religious,  of  most  nations  throughout  the 
globe ;  but  sometimes  for  an  opposite  purpose. 

"  The  true  love  knot  and  marriage  knot  have  some  mysterious  etymo-> 
logy,  such  as  hitherto  unexplained  satisfactorily :  and  probably  the  distri- 
bution of  bride's  favours  in  knots  is  in  relation  to  it.  Hickes  views  thie 
true  love  knot  as  a  symbol  of  indissoluble  friendship,  love,  and  fidelity : 
and  thence  he  derives  its  name  from  words  significant  of  its  purpose.  But 
this  etymology  is  questionable.  The  same  author  adds,  that  it  is  customary 
in  the  north  to  carry  home,  from  nuptials  solemnly  celebrated,  the  head 
dress  presented  to  the  bride,  curiously  interwoven  in  circles  and  knots,  as 
a  testimony  of  the  indissoluble  fidelity  of  the  spouses.  More  probably  the 
formation  and  distribution  or  solution,  were  originally  connected  with 
charms  which  might  impair  matrimonial  felicity.  Was  their  absence 
ijiferred  with  the  removal  of  knots  as  gifted  ?" — ^pp.  287 — 310. 

We  pass  over  the  chapters  on  the  ingredients  and  instruments  of 
sorcery^  mystical  plants^  and  mystical  animals^  to  introduce  an  ex- 
tract or  two  from  that  on  mystical  mankind. 

*^  About  thirty  years  ago,  a  person  of  rustic  habits,  named  Sullivan,  in 
the  south  of  Ireland,  generally  designed  the  whisperer,  was  celebrated  for 
the  remarkable  control  which  he  could  exercise  immediately  over  vicious 
horses.  After  entering  the  stable,  where  he  remained  some  time  alone 
9nd  unwitnessed,  he  led  forth  the  most  untractable  animal  in  perfect  sub- 
jection, or  on  opening  the  door  he  was  seen  lying  beside  it  in  tranquillity. 
Sometimes  on  mounting  a  fiery,  restive,  or  vicious  steed,  such  as  others 
durst  hardly  approach,  in  the  shortest  period,  while  the  perspiration  hailed 
from  it  in  terror,  it  showed  an  absolute  obedience  to  the  rein.  He  never 
testified  dread  of  any;  all  became  alike  subdued,  and  thenceforth  useful 


r  IS6  SupetBatioM  ijf  S&oHmul. 

for  their  reapective  ««f  vice.  Abote  twenty  yean  bare  dapsed  ttaoe  the 
whisperer  died,  and  the  real  secret,  whereby  he  accompliahed  his  art,  never 
having  been  disclosed,  has  perished  with  him.  Some  hare  idleg^  that  it 
consisted  in  the  use  of  oil,  of  smoke,  or  other  things,  but  it  is  generally 
ascribed  to  whispering  in  the  horse's  ear.  Thence  SuUivan  was  known 
every  where  simply  as  the  whisperer,'* — pp.  444, 445. 

Personal  deformities  or  imperfections  being  declared  by  the  Deity 
to  be  his  own  work,  may  have  conferred  on  those  labouring  uxider 
them  a  mystical  character.  In  this  country  the  faculty  of  predic- 
tion has  been  associated  with  the  dumb. 

"  Persons  in  the  more  humble  sphere  of  life,  are  not  always  disposed  to 
ccmsider  an  idiot  child  as  the  most  calamitous  dispensation.  They  rather 
deem  it  as  some  peculiar,  though  inexplicable  token  of  the  divine  prelec- 
tion extended  to  their  family :  nay,  in  Ireland,  *  sanctity  ia  generally 
ascribed  to  fatuity.'  A  recent  traveller  observed,  that  the  '  Arabs  have 
a  profound  respect  for  idiots,  whom  they  consider  as  people  beloved  of 
heaven,  and  totally  unable  to  think  of  the  things  of  this  world.'  A  festival 
in  honour  of  fools  was  instituted  in  France,  the  description  and  ceremo- 
nies of  which  are  commemorated  in  different  literary  compositions.  An 
unfortunate  family,  comprehending  four  children,  all  bom  in  idiocy,  was 
once  pointed  out  to  the  author  in  Scotland." — ^p.  446. 

Under  the  head  Second  Sight,  tihe  author  presents  us  with  much 
curious  matter.  It  generally  embraced  sad  and  dismal  objects  ; 
«nd  in  the  strictest  sense^  the  vision  was  cotemporary^  though  it 
sometimes  bordered  on  futurity. 

"On  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Bothwell  Bridge,  "  Mr.  John 
Cameron,  minister  at  Lochend,  in  Kintyr9,"  became  very  melancholy, 
when  Mr.  Morison,  one  of  his  elders,  observing  him  "  throu  his  chamber 
dore,  sore  weeping,  and  wringing  his  hands — continued  knocking,  till  at 
lenth  he  opened  to  him :  and  he  asked  what  was  the  matter :  if  his  wife 
and  bairns  wer  wecl  ?  *  Little  matter  for  them,'  says  he,  '  our  friends 
at  Bothweel  are  gone.'  When  Mr.  Morrison  told  him  it  might  be  a 
mistake,  and  a  fit  of  melancholy,  *  noe,  noe,'  sayes  he,  *  I  see  them  flying 
as  clear  as  I  see  the  wall :'  and  as  near  as  they  could  calculate  by  after 
accompts,  it  was  at  the  very  minute  they  fled,  that  this  hapned  at  the 
Lochhead  of  Kintyre.** 

"  It  appears,  that  in  the  first  years  of  the  commonwealth,  while  Mac- 
kensie  of  Tarbat,  afterwards  the  Earl  of  Cromarty,  was  riding  in  a  field 
among  his  tenants,  who  were  manuring  barley,  a  stranger  *  called  that 
way  on  his  foot,  and  stopped  likewise,  and  said  to  the  countrjrmen,  '  You 
need  not  be  so  busy  about  that  barley,  for  I  see  the  Englishmen's 
horses  teathered  among  it ;  and  other  parts  moued  doim  for  them.' 
Tarbet  asked  him  how  he  knew  them  to  be  Englishmen,  and  if  he  had 
ever  seen  any  of  them  ?  He  said  '  No ;  but  he  sau  them  strangers,  and 
heard  the  English  wer  in  Scotland,  and  guessed  it  could  be  no  other  than 
they.'  In  the  month  of  July,  the  thing  hapned  directly  as  the  man  said 
he  saw  it.'  This  is  both  a  contemporary  and  prognosticative  vision. 
The  instances  of  the  second  sight  in  purity — that  whereby  an  event 
strictly  contemporary  is  represented — seem  to  be  rare." — ^pp.  475, 476. 

The  author  tells  us  that  one  fiimily  in  Shetland  stiU  claims  the 


fverogalive  of  the  second  sight,  and  that  by  inheriiteee.  But  it 
teposes  in  tlie  head  or  representativa  of  the  family  alone.  The 
truth  is,  the  longer  that  ignorance  prevails,  the  longer  will  all  such 
credulity  be  indulged,  prediction,  prognostication,  and  divination, 
are  separately  considered  by  the  author  with  his  usual  discrimm- 
ation  and  knowledge.  The  gift  of  foresight  is  a  proof  of  a  superi- 
cnrity  of  observation ;  but  mankind  have  hence  claimed  the  singular 
gift  of  prophecy.     Besides  we  never  hear  of  abortive  predictions. 

"  The  reputation  of  some  of  the  Scottish  prophetesses  seems  to  have 
bt^en  very  great :  they  were  firmly  believed  to  be  gifted  with  superna- 
tural insight  into  futurity.  *  Wally  fall  that  quhyt  head  of  thine,  but  the 
pox  will  take  thee  away  from  thy  mother/  exclaimed  one  of  them  to  a 
child.  In  some  weeks  small-pox  became  endemial,  and  the  chilel  died  : 
no  doubts  were  entertained  of  the  sybil's  prescience.  '  Thow  can  tell 
eneugh  if  thow  lyk/  said  the  mother  to  her,  *  that  could  tell  that  my 
baime  wold  die  so  long  befoir  the  tyme.*  •  I  can  tell  eneugh  if  I  durst,* 
she  returned  in  mysterious  reply.  It  was  alleged  on  the  trial  of  Besse 
Skebister,  *  that  all  the  honest  men  of  the  Yle  declarit,  that  it  was  ane 
usual!  thing  quhen  they  thought  boatis  war  in  danger,  to  come  or  send' 
to  enquire  '  how  they  war,  and  if  thay  wold  come  home  weill  ?  quhairv- 
poun  ane  common  proverb  is,  vsit, '  OifF  Bessie  say  it  is  weill,  all  is  weill :' 
ami  the  currency  of  this  proverb  was  found  by  her  jury — Bessie  was 
strangled  and  burnt." — ^p.  491. 

Diviners,  those  that  made  experimental  enquiries  after  futurity, 
were  chiefly  of  the  Gypsy  race  in  Scotland. 

"A  shirt  dipped  in  a  well  which  '  brides  and  burials  passed  over,'  was 
hung  before  the  fire,  perhaps  that  some  form  should  appear  and  turn  it. 
J>]stemper3  were  ascertained  from  the  aspect  of  apparel,  and  anticipations 
of  the  issue.  Thus  an  elf-shot  or  witchcraft  were  declared  the  source  of 
the  evil :  One  affirmed  it,  if  she  had  got  the  shirt  of  a  deceased  person  in 
time,  he  should  not  have  died ;  and  that  of   another  being  carried  to 

•  Jonet  Murrioth,  in  Dumblane,'  with  a  query  whether  he  should  die, — 

*  Not  this  year,'  she  answered,  cast  a  knot  on  the  sleeve  and  desire  it  to 
be  put  on  the  patient.  If  the  left  shoe  cast  over  the  house,  fell  with  the 
mouth  upwards,  a  divination  of  recovery  was  obtained  :  a  distemper  was 
mortal  if  falling  downwards." — p.  520. 

I'here  is  a  long  chapter  on  Imaginary  Beings  ;  the  notice  taken 
of  A  benevolent  and  favourite  sort  is  thus  correctly  given : — 

'  *  Broivnie  in  Scotland  seems  to  have  corresponded  with  Robin  Good' 
fdlow,  and  the  Terrei  Virunculi  of  the  continent.  King  James  con- 
sidered Brownie  as  a  rough  man,  Martin  as  a  tall  man.  Brand  looked  on 
this  being  as  an  evil  spirit :  King  James,  and  perhaps  the  physician 
Ramesey,  as  a  Satanic  metamorphosis ;  and  Kirk  thinks  Brownie  peculiar 
to  his  native  country,  and  belonging  to  the  class  of  fairies.  A  similar 
office,  in  rocking  cradles,  domestic  services,  taking  care  of  horses  and 
cattle,  was  also  deemed  the  province  of  these  beings,  in  all  countries :  and 
it  was  discliargcd  in  the  night.  In  the  Orkney  Islands,  stacks  of  corn, 
called  Brownie's  stacks,  were  always  safe.  A  portion  of  food  was  set 
apart  in  houses  for  Brownie ;  and  a  libation  of  milk  or  wort,  poured  into 
a  catity  of  a  stone,  called  Browny's  stone  to  ensure  favour  and  protection. 


128  Siq>er$tiH(ms  of  Scotltfnd. 

Credulity  in  the  existence  of  such  supernatural  beings  abated  in  the  end 
i>f  the  seventeenth  century.  They  were  said  to  have  been  chain^  up  by 
the  event  of  the  reformation,  but  again  let  loose  on  introduction  of  the 
English  liturgy  here,  as  expressed  with  controversial  asperity.  The 
nature  of  Brownie  was  pacific  and  munificent — but  spite  of  his  unwearied 
services,  when  offended  once  he  appeared  no  more."**p.  530, 

The  Fairies,  *^  men  or  people  of  peace/'  are  kindly  beings. 

**  They  partake  of  human  and  spiritual  nature ;  their  size  is  diminu- 
tive: they  pet^tuate  their  race:,  and  offspring  descends  also  of  their  in- 
^tcourse  with  mortals.  They  can  become  invisible,  when  they  do  not 
scruple  to  mix  with  mankind,  and  abstract-  the  goods  of  the  upper  world 
to  their  subterraneous  abodes.  •  Thither  also,  they  convey  the  parturient 
for  nurses,  and  new  bom  babes.  They  are  addicted  to  merriment :  tibey 
have  been  seen  dancing,  and  dressed  in  green.  Animals  from  'the  flocks 
or  herds,  shot  with  elf  arrows,  serve  for  their  banquets .  The  influence  of 
fairies  is  greatest  on  Friday ;  at  noon,  and  at  midnight:  and  from  certam 
jealousies  which  they  entertain  of  mankind,  their  name  is  avoided  by  the 
populace,  or  treated  with  respect:  thence,  perhaps,  they  are  called  good 
wights,  or  good  neighbours." — p.  535. 

But  of  all  the  evil  imaginary  beings,  Satan  is  the  most  formid- 
able. He  misled  exemplary  Scottish  matrons  by  assuming  the 
semblance  of  their  own  husbands.  His  voice  is  thick  and  hollowi 
like  one  speaking  into  an  empty  cask.  He  sometimes  appears  ii) 
white  raiment  and  sometimes  in  blacky  and  indeed  he  is  any  thih^ 
and  every  thing  as  he  chooses. 

*'  In  human  form»  his  demeanour  was  always  consistent.  He  w»i 
affable,  polite,  sometimes  even  officious,— oiccasionally  violent,  crafty« 
under  a  plausible  exterior,  and  very  amorous.  Such  repeated  and 
invarying  evidence  establishes  this,  that,  had  the  youthful  and  atti'active 
borne  witness  to  the  fact,  instead  ojf  the  repulsive,  old,  and  haggard  part 
of  the  sex,  asseverations  of  such  Satanic  disguise  could  have  been  only 
thought  a  veil  for  their  levities.  Female  testimony  here  is  more  than 
minute.  But  alleged  amours  with  Satan  became  a  cruel  and  common 
vehicle  for  slander.  On  one  occasion,  he  introduced  himself  as  a  '  plea- 
sant young  man/  saying,  *■  where  do  you  live,  goodwyf — and  how  doea 
the  minister  ?'  Jonet  Ker,  reaching  Tweedside,  he  arose  at  thd  water, 
helped  her  over,  and  enquired  whether  she  intended  to  return,  as  he 
should  help  her  back  again  :  another  represents  him  sitting  at  table  as  a- 
gentleman,  '  who  drank  to  her,  and  she  drank  .to  him.'  likewise,  he 
appeared  to  Jonet  Barker,  Margaret  Lauder,  and  Jonct  Cranstoun,  *  in 
lyknes  of  ane  tryme  gentillman,  and  drank  with  thame  all  three,  and 
imbraoit  Margparet  lAuder  in  his  airmes.'  Meeting  one  on  the  hills 
between  Harray  and  Kendall, '  he  gart  hir  milk  the  kyne,  quhill  he  suppit 
as  fast  as  she  milkit.'  Because  Margaret  Sonnes,  who  had  engaged  in 
his  service,  *  was  not  speedie  in  following  the  devJU,  he  did  drag  her  be 
the  coat,  and  brak  the  band  thereof.'  For  infringing  an  appointment, . 
Alexander  Hamilton  was  *  maist  rigorouslie  strukin  with  ane  battoun,'  by 
him  thereafter.  He  was  equally  resentful  in  other  countries." — ^pp.  554, 
555. 

We  pass  over  the  subject  of  spectoral  illusions  to  come  .to  the 
last  chapter  on  the  tests,  trial,  convi^tion^  and  punishment  of 


Guide  to  the  HigUmidfi.  139 

sprcqr| ;  pf  iir|)ich  a  sentence  or  8o.  And  h^  ^  tesrific  £eld  w 
qptnea  Olf  the  imorance,  the  bigotry,  ^he  malice  and  the  crnelt j  of 
husfiw  kind.  How  easy  wa«  it  to  charge  the  innoG^ at  yrim 
9(o^e&y !  and  what  idotre  aaagerouB  amidst  the  darkness  of  super- 
stition !  suspicion  was  the  harbinger  of  death.  Safety  could  not 
be  found  in  flight ;  an  asylum  was  denied  the  accused  by  their 
felloi^  creatures.  Contrivances  were  practised  to  ratify  the  inform- 
ation lodged  by  confession.  Hunger,  confinement  and  terror 
/often  drove  ppor  ignorant  women  distracted,  and  not  nnfirequently 
to  believe  themselves  possessed  of  that  which  was  formidably 
^duused  against  them,  and,  under  torture  of  bodjr  as  weU  as  of 
fsino,  to  eonfe^ ;  and  all  this  was  prosecuted  with  the  view  of 
g^lonfying  God»  by  literally  inteunpretinjg;  the  injunction  "  thou  shalt 
not  suffer  a  witcn  to  live."  The  victims  were  chiefly  women. 
The  sentepce  generally  was  to  be  strangled  and  burnt. 

'*  But  besides  the  noted  doom  of  Eufiune  Macalyane  to  be  burnt  alive, 
^e  frequent  marginal  notices  of  oonvieia  et  oambusta^  in  the  original 
nconls,  aCord  too  definitive  evidence  bow  oiten  this  cruel  fate  await^ 
othar^.    IJer^es  i|re  expiated  by  the  flames. 

■*  Perhaps  the  faggpts  were  regularly  piled  around  the  miserable  vic- 
til(09j  dragged  forth  amidst  the  execrations  of  a  ferocious  multitude  exult- 
ing m  this  v^aible  defeat  of  Satan,  while  more  combustible  ingrediente 
promoted  fiercer  conflagration. 

**  Several  unhappy  women,  inhumanly  committed  to  the  fttake,  though 
persevering  in  asseverations  of  their  innocence  to  the  last,  *  were  bumet 
^uhk  after  sic  ane  crewell  manner,  that  sum  of  thame  deit  in  dispair, 
renunceand  and  blaspfaemand  :  and  vtheris  half  brunt  brak  out  of  the 
IVre,  and  wes  cassin  quick  into  it  agane,  quhill  thay  war  brunt  to  the 
ddd,'  *•  —p.  67«. 

We  conclude  our  notices  of  some  of  the  contents  of  this  volume, 
by  giving  it  as  our  opinion,  that  it  is  a  very  important  he)p  to  a 
tnorough  knowledge  ot  Scottish  history,  and  even  is  of  much  more 
extensive  applicatidn.  It  is  a  careful^  learned,  and  well-written 
(notwithstanding  the  fault  as  to  style  forpietiy  pointed  out  by  us) 
treatise ;  a  clear  analysis  of  hithertodisordered  materials.  Tt  opens 
the  way' to  &rther  research^  and  probably  to  a  new,  as  well  as  more 
apparent  illustration  of  the  history  of  the  human  mind. 

Aj^T*  IX. — Gttide  to  the  Highfanii  and  Islands  of  Scotland.    By  G.  and 

P.  Anderson.  jLiOndon :  Murray.     1834. 

Tbib  is  fay  £ur  the  fullest,  the  most  correct^  and  the  best  written 
Chiide  to  th^  Highlands  of  Scotland  that  has  ever  been  published. 
Tbeare  have  been  tours  and  sketches  innumerable,  some  of  them 
ii]gbi]r  deseriptive  nf  the  scenery  and  people  of  this  portion  of  the 
^npire,  but  none  of  tham  combine  all  the  points  and  matures  of  the 
pomesat :  none  of  them  are  at.  all  e^al  to  it  a3  a  us^ul  guide  to 
eiGBTf  thing  that  can  int«rest  or  direct  travellezs  and  visitors  pf 
civfliy  desdripftkm.  Works  of  this  nature  are  of  the  greatest  naiJonal 
Vol.  III.  (1834.)  ho.  i.  k 


130  Chdd*  to  the  Highitmdi. 

service.  There  is  by  the  most  efficient  means^  reeiprodty  of  know* 
ledge  hereby  encouraged  in  every  useful  department.  The  visitors 
as  well  as  the  visited  are  benefited  ;  not  merely  is  he  who  travds 
for  pleasure  or  health,  and  those  among  whom  he  spends  his  money 
thus  blessed,  but  in  every  important  particular,  so  obviously  as  needs 
not  to  be  more  than  hinted  at,  does  all  kind  of  knowledge,  the  best 
moral  ends,  the  most  beneficial  habits,  come  to  be  increased  and 
sustained  by  the  interchanges  that  take  place  through  travellers. 

When  a  book,  such  as  the  present,  gives,  besides  an  accuracy  of 
innumerable  fects,  an  attractive  account  of  ^em,  it  deserves  doubly 
to  be  well  spoken  of.  Knowledge  that  is  finely  sweetened,  neces- 
sarily thereby  becomes  an  object  of  desire.  It  is  the  pleasure  one 
has  in  reading  such  a  book  as  this,  that  leads  to  the  benefits  we 
have  alluded  to.  What  for  instance  is  the  amount  of  solid  and 
practical  good  that  has  been  conferred  on  Scotland  and  on  the 
thousands  that  have  repaired  to  its  shores,  and  to  its  moontams, 
and  valleys,  through  Scott's  '^  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  and  his  '^  Wa^ 
verly."  It  is  incalculable.  And  we  predict  that  the  volume  before 
us,  will  be  the  means  of  sending  thousands  upon  thousands  more  to 
reap  mental  vigour  and  tenderness  among  the  people  of  the  north, 
and  to  difiuse  all  the  peacefiil  arts  of  civilization.  W  ith  the  purpose 
of  giving  encouragement  to  the  works,  that  through  it  the  nation  and 
the  world  may  fiind  good ;  we  shall  present  a  slight  outline  of  its 
general  observations  on  the  character  of  the  people,  the  scenery^  the 
condition,  and  the  capabilities  of  the  Highlands  and  Islands  of 
Scotland. 

The  portion  of  Ghreat  Britain  which  this  guide  delineates,  compre- 
hends, besides  the  Hebrides,  Orkney,  and  Shetland  Islands,  the 
greater  part  of  Scotland  to  the  north  of  the  Friths  of  Tay  and 
Clyde,  and  the  river  Forth,  with  the  exception  of  the  counties  on 
the  eastern  coast  to  the  south  of  the  Moray  Frith.  The  very  mi- 
nutely and  correctly  detailed  map  which  accompanies  the  volume 
will,  on  a  short  inspection,  point  out  distinctly  the  portion  referred 
to.  It  is  an  extensive  tract,  and,  when  compared  to  the  whole  of 
the  kingdom,  becomes  a  most  considerable  territory.  The  general 
name  of  Highlands  intimates  its  elevated  appearance.  The  moun- 
tains, of  course,  greatly  vary  in  height,  the  highest  being  about 
4,400  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  In  general  they  extend  in 
chains  across  the  country  in  a  direction  from  south-west  to  north- 
east, and  the  larger  valleys  which  intervene  have  a  parallel  direc- 
tion, while  the  intersecting  openings  observe  no  such  regularity. 
The  eastern  side  of  the  north  of  Scotland  for  the  most  part  presents 
a  continuous  unbroken  line  of  coast,  whilst  the  western  is  indented 
by  numberless  narrow  arms  of  the  sea.  The  latter  coast,  also,  ik 
flanked  by  cluslers  of  islands,  forming  an  almost  complete  braorf?^ 
work,  between  the  open  ooean  and  the  mainland ;  the  eastern  share 
is  «Kposed  to  the  All  swell  of  the  German  Sea.  Lakes  and  rivwa, 
llie  most  varied  in  every  Teqpect^ave  interspersed  amoag  the  va]by9» 


€Mie  to  the  Htfhhndg.  U\  - 

which .  many  fltreams  find  their  way.  from  the  adjacent  bigh- 
grcMinds.  Heath  or  ling  is  a  prevailing  covering  of  the.moimt8iB«^ 
diose  of  the  west  being  more  verdant^  and  not  so  heathery  as  the 
other  parts.  The  native  rock,  however,  protrudes  in  miffhty  masses 
m  many  places,  and  the  slopes  and  bases  of  the  him  are  often 
covered  with  gravel  or  fedlen  fragments.  Native  woods  clothe  the 
aedivities  frequently,  overhanging  or  fencing. the  lahes  and  the 
streams.     The  valleys  jure  gladdened  by  hixuriance. 

Such  asurface  must  exhibit  every  variety  of  scenery.  There  is 
theloveliest  of  marine  views  and  clmmpaign  landscapes;  the  solh* 
tade  of  wildernesses,  shut  up  from  the  great  world ;  there  are  ra« 
▼ines,  fastnesses,  alpine  heights,  grassy  meadows,  thundering  cata* 
Mcts;  and  sleeping  lakes,  aLmost  perennial  snows,  shrouding  mists, 
and  sunny  valleys  and  straths.  There  is  the  magnificence  of  fright-* 
fill,  precipices  and  sullen  wildness,  intermixed  with  the  gentler 
grandeur  of  long  arms  of  the  sea,  sending  their  silver  waters  fur  into 
the  bosom  of  the  land;  together  with  die  most  picturesque  lakes^ 
stadded  with  islets^  that  mirror  the  impending  and  adjacent  monn* 
tains.  No  wonder  that  this  **  land  of  mountain  and  flood"  should 
awaken  the  song  of  bards,  and  lend  the  people  the  romantic  cha- 
racter they  possess;  wild^  pensive,  and  tender  as  it  is;  and  that 
wfaethar  ambition  call  or  misfortune  drive  them  to  distant  parts  of 
the  globe,  the  recollection  of  their  native  home  should  haunt  them 
Ui  the  last :  no  wonder  that  such  profuse  greatness  and  beauty 
sboald  attract  from  every  part  of  Europe,  the  admirers  of  noble 
scenery  and  romantic  character. 

The  progress  of  the  Highlanders  to  a  state  of  assimilation  with 
iherestof  the  inhabitants,  of  the  kingdom  till  a  late  period,  was 
remarkably  slow.  The  inaccessible  nature  of  their  country  shut 
tii^m  out  from,  the  gentler  arts  of  civilized  life.  The  chieftains 
were. stormy,  their  vassals  ignorant  and  rude;. the  whole,  hardy, 
Ivave,  and  warlike,  and  characterized  by  all  the  virtues  as  well  as 
vices  of  people  so  situated.  The  two  rebellions  of  1715  and  1745, 
had  some  tendency  towards  introducing  new  manners  amongst 
Ihem.  The  soldiery  stationed  by  Cromwell  in  the  fi>rts  constructed 
by  him,  had  considerable  effect  previously;  but  the  abolition  of 
heritable  jurisdictions,  and  the  coercive  measures  of  government, 
together  with  |the  formation  (of  the  military  roads,  at  last  broke 
op  the  old  system.  A  new  .^eld  of  adventure  was  unfolded  to  the 
yoong  in  civ,il  and  military  professions ;  a  spirit  of  independence 
and  industry  in  the  usefid  arts,  was  universally  difiused.  Mail  and 
other  coaches  r^olarly.mn  to  Inverness;  and  steam-boats . visit, 
it  may  bo  said,  every  creek  and  island  of  the  remarkable  shores. 
Indeed,  to  this  last-mentioned  means  of  communication,  the  most 
sslfmishinif  results  are  to  be  attributed;  and  still  farther  important 
benefits  will  be  derived.  Steam  has  brought  Glasgow  and  Edin- 
faorgfa  within  a  few  hours  travelling  of  places  that  were  before 
w^mt  to  be  visited  once  in  a  lifetime  only  by  the  most  curious. 

k2 


m  (MA  U  "ihe  mfklMb, 

The  drudging  ^d^ms  V  well  ai  ifrealthy  dtfiseas  «f  tKei^  lMf|;9 
townd,  oan^  m  on  aftemooa,  bravel  to  die  sbenery  of  their  biri& 
placetj  that  bdfore  were  at  a  dangerous  uncertain  distance.  Verf 
maay  of  the  Highlanders  may  Inreak&st  in  their  own  shealinfiis^ 
and  ere  the  sun  go  down — ^be  parading  the  busy  streets  of  s|>lencud 
cities*  And  to  oome  near^  oursdves;  the  Londoner  may  in  one 
wefefciy  have  set  his  foot  ub  board  of  a  giAant  and  splendid  sieainelr 
HI  the  Scotch  wharfr  on  the  Thames,  dive  into  the  wild  ^  recesiies 
of  the  Highlands,  and  again  be  in  his  oolmting<-hoaBe  in  o^^ar- 
|;rown  London.  With  this  Guide  in  hfe  hand,  sndi  a  ranter  mmp 
in  a  few  day6.  Know  more  of  the  Highlands^ of  Seotiaiid,  than  fane 
in  a  hundred  of  the  inhabitants  of  its  metropolis  half  a  centory 
ago  knew.  He  may  carry  his  goods  in  such  a  short  time  tb  pMB^ 
that  the  Glasgow  manu&cturer  ndt  long  ago  durst  not  visit  with 
a  view  to  business,  and,  indeed,  did  not  well  know  how  to*  apf- 
picoach.  Merchants,  naturalists,  artists,  sportsm^i,  and  tcAiristB 
of  e^ery  description,  encounter  little  trouble^  incur  tnfling  expense, 
and  waste  bat  a  short  time,  in  now  understanding  all  \m  pmdia- 
rities  of  Highland  hospitality  and  scenery. 

We  shall  extract  a  few  passages  firooi  this  Gvide  to  the  «ela- 
brated  and  now  classic  Highlands  of  Seofland,  from  wfakdi  a..jad($^ 
ment  may  be  formed  of  the  character  of  the  weak :  and  Whikih 
may  more  pkrticnlarly  interest  one  or  other  of  the  rarixnm  rlnsmn 
of  trave&ers*  Inverness,  as  the  capital  bf  diis^great  liOitiieite  de- 
partment, desei^es,  as  it  has  received,  a  copious  aikd  car^tl  eoniA* 
deration;  we  select  the  following  particulars  : — 

«<«  luvemess  Yab  bee^  strangely  underrated.'  00  observes  a  late  ele- 
gant writer,  who  has  even  gone  the  length  of  drawing  a  comparison 
between  the  beauties  of  ite  neighbourhood  and  that  of  Sdinburgb.  « The 
Fnth  of  F6rtb  mtnt  yield  the  palm  to  Momy  Frith,  the-  surrounding 
countlry  must  yield  ahogeliher,  and  InvemcM  asust  take  the  highest  rank. 
Every  thing  is  tkonC)  too,  for  Inverness  that  caa  be  effected  by  wood  and 
cultivation ;  the  eharaeters  of  whick,  here,  have  altogether  a  richnessi  a 
variety,  and  a  freedcm,  whkh  we  miss  round  Sdin]i>utgk.  The  moun- 
tain screens  are  finer,  more  various,  and  more  near.  Each  outlet  is 
different  from  the  others,  and  each  is  beautiful ;  wheth<^r  we  proceed  to- 
wards Fort  George  or  towards  Moy,  or  enter  the  valley  of  tjie  Ness,  or 
kkirt  the  shores  of  the  Beavly  Frith,  while  a  short  and  commodious  ferry 
wafte  us  to  the  lovely  cbuntrv  opposite,  rich  with  wobd,  s^  country 
seats,  and  cultivation.  It  is  the  boast,  also,  of  Inverness  to  unite  two 
'  opposed  qualities,  and  each  in  the  greatest  perfection :  the  characters  of 
a  rich  open  lowland  country  with  those  of  tiie  ^Idedt  ai^ine-seeaefy, 
both,  also,  being  close  at  hand,  and  in  many  pldces  ititennhted ;  while  to 
all  this  is  added  a  series  of  maritime  landscape  not  often  equallad;' 

**  The  name  of  Inverness  denotes  its  situadon  as  neai*  the-efltiuttyof 
the  river  Ness,  which  flows  from  the  great  inland  lake,  tnib  wtese 
waters  fall  those  of  the  celebrated  cataract  of  Foyers.  Hence  tbeCraelic 
word  e«Jr  signifying  a  waterfall,  has  been  bestowed  on  the  whole  country, 
as  well  as  on  the  lock  and  river.     The  course  of  the  last  is  only  about 


^_ ,  ^  o^tah ««i  ijfc  »mfeaiBf  ' iiobk^  Iffcwd,  dear,  aM  stroW/  irbether 
w#«9bt9VQ  it^  At  its  juBction  ieith  tli^  sea  or  trhere  it  fldimfrbm  m  |)a- 
iput  lake,  IbB  banks  are  fringed  with  rows  of  trees,  and  tAonr  beatitifiii' 
floats  wd  villas ;  and  Within  a  mile  of  Ute  totm  it  i^  divided  intd  two* 
Ikanehei  by  an  island^  or  rather 'u  faries  of  lakteds;;  hiscuHalitiy  iMMH 
Hiese,  in  ancient  day8«  were  celebrated  as  the  seenes^of  rural  feasts 
given  by  the  magistrates  of  Inverness  to  the  kingpV  jvidges  when  the]r 
came  here  to  hM  assize  courlB.  Fresh  salaont  caught  iaab  ad|(MBg 
pool,  are  said  to  have  formed  the  chief  delicacy  at  the«e  banquets;  ^iridl# 
claret,  braady,  and  hoQaads,  and  even  the  clas^ia  sack,  flowed  in  abun- 
dance  among  the  gnesb.  Their  -mox^  refined  descendants  have  ou^  the 
sarfaes  of  the  islands  into  pleasuice  watk^;  and  it  is  intended  to  connect 
theoi^tb  the  opposite  banks  by  chain  bridges,  one  of  which  only  has  as 
yiQt  been  finished." 

V  So  late  as  the  period  of  the  Disarming  Act,  men  in  all  parts  of  the 
Highlands  appeared  on  Sundays  as  if  full)"  accoutred  for  war ;  and,  sixty 
y^ais  ago,  only  three  ladieis  with  s'lraw  bonnets  were  to  be  seen  in  the 
High  Church  of  Inverness.  It  appears,  by  the  town  records,  that  the 
streets  were  for  the  first  time  cleaned  at  tlie  public  expense  in  1746,  by 
order  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland.  From  the  cheapness  of  foreign  winea, 
spirits,  and  ale,  dissipation  prevailed  here,  snd  in  all  -the  northern  towns^ 
even  to  the  end  of  last  century,  to  a  degree  almost  ipconceivaUe.  Now, 
M  distlnetioiis  can  beperceived  in  the  dress,  manners,  or  modes  of  liyiu 
tif  tke  fadnbittttti  of  the  burgh  hoia  those  of  other  iownS  in  ScotlanC 
iodatdf^he^  people  of  Inverness  are  usually  regard^  as  more  advanced 
ilk.  tHsiteeut  tbaa  most  of  their  neighbours. 

« .  *sThA-  town  is  ruled  by  a  provOst,  four  l>ailie8,  a  dean  of  jgiiild,  a  tr^- 
atirer,  and  fourteen  councillors.  The  magistrates  walk  to  'churbh  oh 
Stfnda^  prteeded  by  thc^i-  liclo^  ¥A  in  the  days  ai  kiitA^i  Rome;  and, 
tin  lately,  ^when  reared,  tY(&if  itttehded  in  u  body  the  fuMrals  of  the 
itthabitints. 

*'  Trade,  by  cneani  of  th^  CKl^onite  Giinill,  b  raving.    Living  is 

liot'Heat.    tim  ^Ht  of  industry  and  spedtdation  hAs  called  forth  teve- 

rai  ooupttiies  for  thfe  eiaA^loyflBenatof  capital  and  the  embellishment  of  the 

'  tkywft.    dt^m*biMtB  and  colMdAis  have  rehdered  it  a  gteat  thoroughfare. 

'  Abtft&B  ib  eainiy  had  from  Inverness  to  all  parts  of  the  cpnnty;  and 

'its  ttM,  for  elegance  and  coae^if ,  are  nowhere  snrpassed  in  Scotland.'*-^ 

'\    The  foUowihg  passage  regaf'dd  tbb  battle  of  Ctilloden. 

^  Aiooording  to  the  general  acQounta»  there  were  but  1200  men  killed 

iA  this  engagement,  and  as  many  on  the  J^lnglish  $s  on  their  opponents' 

.aide*    The  woupded  were  left  Uu-ee  days  on  the  field,  and  such  as  then 

isnrvived  were  shot  hsf  order  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,     He  set  fire 

to  fr  bam  to  which  many  of  them  had.  r^tir^.    Ip  the  town  of  Inverness, 

;be  inatituted  a  eomphte  military  government;  treated  the  inhabitants 

and  magistrates  with/conteio^t;  and  he  was  afterwards  obliged  to  sue 

out  SMk  aCit  of  indemnity  from  the  British  parliement  for  these  and  other 

dbacitiest  of  which  it  is  notoriously  known  be  was  guilty.     Prince 

Qiarlea's  r9sources»  notwithstanding  the  loss  of  this  battle,  were  by  no 

meaaa  deqwrate.     JBight.tbousand  men  w^re  ready  to  meet  him  at 

RuthiPVeB  in  BadenoclH  ha4  he  signified  his  desire  to  attempt  the  battle- 


9tnfe  oye^  ng^n ;  il^uti  .alter  some, days'  detibecalion,  liiflr-tmly  Mv^eBto 
the  chie£3  who  awaited  him  there  wa9«  '  Let  every .  man  aeek  his'-tafelgr 
in  t^e  heat  way  he  can.' 

''  The  fpUowing  lines,  express  the  thoughts  likely  to  arise  in  the  tour* 
ist's  breast  on  visiting  this  scene,  and  witi^  them  we  close  our  di:etch  :-^ 

"  *  Why  lineer  on  this  battle  heath, 

So  stenle,  wild,  and  lonely  now? 
Stranger,  it  tells  a  tale  of  death. 

That  well  befits  its  barren  brow. 
Nay !  rest  not  on  that  swelling  sod, 

But  let  us  hence :  it  marks  a  grave ! 
Whose  verdure  is  the  price  of  blood, — 

The  heart's  stream  of  the  vainly  brave. 
••  •  Long  years  ago,  from  o'er  the  sea, 

A  banish'd  prince,  of  Stuart's  line. 
Game  hither,  claiming  fealty. 

And  succour  in  his  sire's  decline. 
A  triple  diadem — a  throne- 
Ambitious  toys — ^his  birthright  were ; 
Of  valleys,  lakes,  and  mountains  lone, — 

Of  all  our  country  was  he  heir.' " — pp.  Ill,  1 12, 

Here  is  another  renowned  scene  :  it  is  Cawdor  Castle. 

*^  If  the  name  of  this  cattle  be  not  sufficient  to  excite  cuoceity,  the 
beauties  of  its  situation,  the  freshness  in  which  all  its  appurtanano^e  of 
ancient  feudal  gloom  and  grandeur,  and  means  of  defence,  remain,  wiU 
amply  recompense  the  tourist  for  .  the  trouble  he .  may  be  put  py  •  in 
visiting  it. 

''  Perched  upon  a  low  rock,  overhangi^ig  the  bed  of  a  Highland  toii^ront, 
and  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  the  largest  sized  forest  trees,  which  partly 
conceal  the  extent  of  its  park,  it  stands  a  relic  of  the  work  of  several  agea» 
a  weather-beaten  tower,  encircled  by  newer  and  less  elevated  dwellings; 
the  whole  being  enclosed  within  a  moat,  and  approachable  only,  by  a 
drawbridge,  which  rattles  on  its  chains  just  as  in  the  years  long  gone  by. 
This  castle  is  still  inhabited :  the  staircase,  the  iron^grated  doors  and 
wickets,  the  large  baronial  kitchen,  partly  formed  out  of  the  native  Fock, 
the  hall,  the  old  furniture,  the  carved  mantel-pieeea,  ^e.  quantity  of 
figured  tapestry,  and  even  the  grotesque  family  mirrors,  in  use  200  years 
ago,  are  still  cherished  and  preserved  by  the  family.  The  drawbridge 
and  gateway  are  particularly  worthy  of  notice. 

"  Tradition  in  this  quarter  asserts  that  good  King  Duncan  was  mur- 
dered in  this  castle  by  his  relative  Macbeth,  who  was  his  sister's  son. 
Some  of  the  old  Scottish  chronicles,  as  interpreted  by  Lord  Hailes»  refer 
to  a  smith's  hut,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Elgin,  as  the  place  where  the 
mortal  blow  was  given,  and  render  it  probable  that  the  unfortunate  mo- 
narch breathed  his  last  within  some  of  the  religious  houses  then  already 
built  there;  while  Shakspeare  and  his  commentators,  following  the 
authority  of  Buchanan,  assign  Macbeth's  castle  at  Inverness  as  the  scene 
of  the  murder.  Few  would  feel  an  interest  in  searching  out  the  disa- 
greeable truth  on  this  point,  even  were  it  now  practicable  to  do  so.  It 
is,  At  least,  undoubted,  that  Macbeth  may  have  had  strong  holds  in  all 
the  places  mentioned,  ds,  on  his  marriage,  he  became,  in  right  xif  hk 


Qmd&  to  ike  Hi§kiimdi.  195 

wJfeChrouoli,  Maonnor,  or  great  Celtic  lord,  of  Moray,  ^ving  l>y  birth 
'tiie  MDne  power  attached  to  diat  namcj  in  the  adjoining  country  of  Rosa ; 
and  that  King  Duncan  was  betrayed  and  sldn  while  residing  at  one  of 
his  nephew's  castles,  on  his  way  to  reduce  Torfin,  the  Scandinavian  Jarl 
of  Caithness,  to  submission,  he  haying  refiised  to  render  the  customary 
tribute  to  the  Scottish  crown. 

**  The  scenery  about  Cawdor  Castle,  as  akeady  stated,  is  of  the  richest 
and  most  picturesque  description.  In  the  park  are  several  of  the  largest 
oaks,  sycamores,  limes,  elms,  ash,  and  pine  trees  in  the  north  of  Scotland ; 
one  magnificent  stem  of  ash  alone  measuring  twenty-three  feet  in  cir- 
cumference at  a  foot  from  the  ground,  and  seventeen  feet  in  g^rth  at  the 
distance  of  eight  feet  from  the  root.  The  garden  also  presents  a  fine 
specimen  of  an  ancient  yew  tree,  and  the  adjoining  woods  and  rocks 
abound  in  many  interesting  plants,  deserving  the  search  of  the  botanist, 
and  especially  in  ferns,  among  which  the  splendid  Saolopendnum  wdgare 
(xscurs  in  great  luxuriance." — pp.  ]  14 — 1 18. 

Some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  scale  of  the  floods  that  roll 
down  from  the  Highland  mountains  and  along  the  plains  from  the 
following  account  di  one  of  the  greatest  on  record^  which  occurred 
between  the  2nd  and  4th  of  August  in  the  year  1829. 

*'  The  previous  summer  had  been  a  remarkably  dry  one,  especially  in 
Morayshire.  An  accumulation  of  vapours  appears  to  have  taken  place 
to  the  north-east  of  the  British  Isles,  and  a  storm  of  wind  and  rain,  com- 
mencing at  the  Orkneys,  seems  to  have  been  impelled  across  the  Moray 
Frith,  and  to  have  discharged  itself  on  the  Cairngorm  and  Monaliagh 
mountains,  the  first  high  ground  which  it  met'.  On  the  coast  but  few 
indications  of  the  coming  deluge  were  perceived,  except  vast  columns  of 
clouds  hurrying  to  the  southward.  After  these,  however,  were  broken 
on  the  mountains,  the  whole  atmosphere  became  surcharged  with  mois- 
ture, which  descended  in  a  small,  penetrating  rain,  almost  as  fine  as  dew, 
but  so  continuous,  that,  at  Huntly  Lodge,  where  accurate  observations 
were  taken,  in  the  course  of  twenty-four  hours,  3|  inches  of  rain  fell; 
which,  as  compared  with  the  average  of  all  the  years  from  1821  to  1828 
inclusive,  is  equal  to  one  sixth  part  of  the  whole  annual  allowance  of  rain 
for  these  years. 

*'  The  loss  of  human  life  on  this  occasion  was,  on  the  whole,  very 
Inconsiderable  *  but  the  value  and  quantity  of  land  destroyed,  of  houses 
overturned,  and  of  valuable  timber  torn  lip  by  the  roots  along  the  Find- 
horn  and  the  other  rivers  affected  by  the  flood,  extending  over  a  line  of 
from  500  to  ^00  miles,  exceeded  all  calculation.  Some  idea,  however, 
of  the  awful  effects  produced  by  this  impetuous  torrent  of  water  may  be 
formed  from  the  fact,  that,  in  the  Findhom  Tas  related  in  the  very 
interesting  and  complete  account  of  the  flood  puoiished  by  Sir  Thomas 
Dick  Lauder),  it  rolled  along  masses  of  rock  of  from  six  to  eight  tons* 
weight ;  that  in  the  Streens  it  rose  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  feet  above 
its  ordinary  level ;  forty  feet  at  Dulsie  Bridge ;  and  at  the  more  open 
0|iace  whera  the'Fomess  Bridge  stands,  it  overtopped  the  parapets  twenty. 
B0VM1  feet  above  its  u^al  *bed.  The  height  of  the  parapet  of  Daltlich 
-Bridge,  sbove  i^e  common  line  of  the  stream,  is  forty-four  feet,  of  which 
tlie  flood  Mfee  thin/Jone  feet;  and  at  the  gorge  below,  on  the  Relugas 
p«dpert]r,*the  ^RftiteiP  aetually  ascended  over  the  very  tops  of  the  rocks, 


136  Gmi^t^tyHigUtmif. 


Raimoch-luu^b,  wUpb  lies  OYi;r  tho^  to  tJiie  depth  of  fo^r  f^^y-rfii^qkiiig 
a  iotql  ferprnidicular  rise  at  tjus  pohlH  af  fko  l^s  tfiofi^  JUtu  feiff.  „  In 
the.  rapids  ^  the  Ht^&e^^  q^  the  Lpgie  property,  the  flood  a^sp  stc^^d  9/b 
this  l96t-9ientioned.  height ;  but  belov  the  estate  of  $\\^e^  the  quantity  of 
water  was  more  easily  aspertained  by  its  .destructi^^neiis  tp  the  AfMf* 
imUs,  and  o^er  buildipffs  along,  h^  b^ks,  than  by  it^  jdepth.  Of  4be* 
bc^^tiful  l^ridge  of  F^ndhorn,  neap  Forrfis,  consisting  of.  fHU^  §fx^  of 
ni^ety-fiye  feet  fua«|  two  others  of  seventy -rfiye  fee^  spf^i  e||ch,  up  t^ppce 
was.  left  bnt  a  fragment  of  the  northern  }and-breast  an4  Pf^  of  the 
inclined  approach  from  the  south.  All  the  s^^on  pools  in  ^&  rurer 
were  chang»l  or  filled  up ;  and  the  water  wa^  so  Ipog  impregna^  ^P^ 
sand  and  mud,  that  the  fish  have  not  even  yet  returned  in  s^di  nmnbera 
as  they  were  wont  ipdo."--pp.  143, 144. 

GleDBiore  pr^ents  great  magnifioence  of  a  oertaia  daaa :  owing 
to  its  simple  grandeuv  of  okarsoter ;  there  is  fmother  eatts^  for  the 
atvoiig  iiselings  it  excites  in  the  bosom  of  the  travellers. 

**  But  it  is  the  wredc  of  the  ancient  forest  which  arrests  aU  the  atten- 
tion, ^nd  which  render?  Gleno^ore  a  melancholy-— more  then  %  piet^n- 
choly — a  terrific  spectacle.  Trees  of  enormous  height,  whi^h  have  es- 
caped alike  the  axe  and  the  tempest,  ai^^  still  standmg,  stripped  by  .the 
winds  even  of  their  bark,  and,  like  gigantic  skeletons,  thro'wing  far  Bp/i 
wide  their  white  and  bleached  bones  to  the  storms  ana  rains  or  heaven ; 
while  others,  broken  by  the  violence  of  the  gales,  lift  their  split  aii4 
fractured  trunks  in  a  thousand  shapes  of  resistance  and  of  destruction,  or 
still  display  son^e  knotted  aqd  tortuouf  branches,  .8tretche4  Qut  in  l^urdy 
and  fitntastic  fprms  of  defiance  by  tb.e  wbi^'lwind  and  the  winter.  It  is 
one  wide  bpage  of  death,  as  if  the  aiigel  of  destruction  had  pasped  ove^ 
the  valley.  The  sight  even  of  a  felled  tree  is  panful ;  still  more  ^.t^t 
of  the  fallen  forest,  with  all  its  green  branches  on  the  groimd  witheiing, 
silent,  and  at  rest,  where  once  they  ^Uttered  in  the  dew  and  the  sim,  and 
trembled  in  the  breeze.  Yet*  this  is  but  an  image  of  vegetable  death : 
it  is  familiar,  and  the  impression  passes  ^way'.  l\  is  the  naked  skeleton 
bleaching  in  the  winds,  the  gigantic  bones  of  the  forest  still  ere9t,.|h^ 
speaking  records  of  former  life,  and  of  strength  still  unsubdued,  vigoi^us 
even  in  death,  which  renders  Glenmore  one  enormous  chaniel4iQU8e. 
The  W9od  in,  this  valley  was  sold  to  the  York  Buildings  Company  for 
lOfiOOl. ;  and  it  is  said  their  profits  exceeded  70,000/.— p.  167. 

The  tour  by  the  Caledonian  Canal  hat  beeome  a  iarourite  «te ; 
and  no  where  in  the  Biiliafa  Isles  is  such  a  oontinuoos  extent  of 
romantic  and  varied  scenery  to  be  foond.  Several  steam  b6ats  ply 
weekly  between  Glasgow  and  Inverness^  by  this  line.  We  cannot 
find  room  for  particalars  about  the  extent  of  trade  connected  .with 
this  great  canal.  We  rather  present  two  tracts  of  the  higlj)^^ 
character  in  ftncient  times  as  exhibited  in  it?  yicinity. 

'*  Two  chi^.  Glengarry  and  Lochiel,  to  try  As  /eaeapanitivje  nmls.^ 
their  followers  b  the  bonourable^rt  pf  thieybg,  agreed  that  the  tfmmfn 
in  their  respective  taUf  mgst  reputed  for  their  dciU  ahoiald  be  sep^lOgt- 
ther  to  make  ti^al  of  their  abiUtieB»  at  the  expeme  of  Ibe  okem  hunted 
Inyernessians.     Haviog  net  by  appeintufient,  tivpy.  jogged  A)eng  -iMry 


Guide  to  the  Highiands.  137 

l^oniitlfy,'  revolving' schemes  to  distinguisli  themselves  in  the  eyes  of  their 
<^ie&,aiid  fellow-clansmen.  When  they  had  advanced  beyond  Inver- 
▼orislipii,  however,  the  Glengarry  man,  in  unwonted  strain,  began  to  ex- 
fii^Bba  to  his  companion  his  dissatisfaction  at  being  thus  called  upon  to  obey 
every  capricious  whim  of  liis  chief ;  and  at  last  said  he  was  resolved,  in 
this  instance  at  least,  to  gratify  his  own  inclinations  at  all  risks,  and  that 
he  was  determined  to  trouble  himself  no  more  about  their  present  object. 
The  Lochiel  candidate  readily  consented  to  their  returning  homewards  ; 
agreed  that  they  should  pass  the  night  where  they  then  were,  and,  congra 
filiating  himself  on  the  prospect  of  his  easy  triumph,  he  have  himself  up 
•to  deep  and  unsuspecting  slumber.    He  accompanied  Macdonell  to  Inver- 

Sarry,  that  he  might  enjoy  the  chief  *s  mortification  at  the  singular  beha- 
[our  of  his  chosen  servant.     Glengarry  and  his  clansmen  clamorously 
▼ented  their  wrath  against  the  supposed  culprit,  and  were  about  to  inflict 
,  ^ftf.puaiiihiMnti  suitable  to  \aa  offeniie,  when  he  slily  asked  Cameron  to 
..^un^Qld  hid  pUid,.  .  On  doing  so,  it  was  found  that  the  cunning  Macdonell 
had,  while ^Caiiayejpn  slept,  cut  from^  a;  part  where  it  was  lea^t  likely  to  be 
missed  as  much  of  his  plaid  as  served  topaake  a  pair  of  .hose,  in  fashioning 
which,  he  employed  the  houra  of  night,  and  travelled  in  them  to  Inver- 
garry.  r  This  e:^pofie  con^p^etely  turned  ^he  tables  against  poor  Cameron, 
whose  discomfiture  was  extreme  at  finding  he  had  been  sq  easily  over- 
reaejied,  and  that  his  observation  h^d  been  too  obtuse  to  remark  thecir- 
cums^c^.  ot  his  companion,  wearing  all  day  hose  of  the  Cameron  pattern. 
.    Such  is  an  example  of  the  sort  of  incident  which  served  to  relieve  the 
ennui  of  ancient  feudal  timies.*' — pp.  247,  248. 

This  display  took  place  nearly  opposite  the  house  of  Foyers,  in 
the  Mighbouthood  of  the  celebrated  falls  of  that  name.  The 
Raid  of  Cillie-christ  (Christ  Church)  was  connected  with  the 
same  locality. 

"  In  th^  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century*  Agnus,  eldest  son  of 
Glengarry,  had  made  a  foray  into  the  Mackenzie'?  country  :  on  his  way 
horn?,  he  was,  intercepted  by  a  gallant  little  band  of  Mackenzies,  and 
slai^  with  a  number  of  his  followers.     Some  time  thereafter  a  strong 

erty  of  Glengarry's  men  were  sent,  under  the  command  of  Allan  Mac 
ionuifl  of  Lundy,  to  revenge  his  death. ,  Allan  led  them  into  the  parish 
'of  Urray,  in  Rossshire,  on  a  Sunday  morning,  and  surprised  a  numerous 
body  of  the  .Mackenzies  assembled  at  prayer  within  the  walls  of  Cillie- 
christ,  near  Beauly ;  for  so  was  their  little  chapel  called.  Placing  his  fol- 
lowex?  so  as  to  prevent  all  possibility  of  escape,  Allan  gave  ordej^  to  set 
•  die  bnilding.  on  fire.  The  miserable  victims  found  all  attempts  at  escape 
unavaiKng,  and  were,  without  a  single  exception, — ^man,  woman,  and 
child, — AWallowed  up  by  the  devouring  element,  or  indiscriminately  mas- 
sacred by  the  swords  of  the  relentless  Macdonells,  whilst  a  piper  marched 
roupd  the  church,  playing  an  extemporary  piece  of  music,  which  has  ever 
since  been  the  pibroch  orthe  Glengarry  family. 

**  The  work  of  death  being  completed,  Allan  deemed  a  speedy  retreat 

^^Mcpedlent :  -  but  the  incendiaries  were  not  to  escape  with  impunity  ;  for 

'Ae  ftmeraf  pile  of  their  clansmen  roused  the  Mackenzies  to  arms  as 

«ffl^ctulll}y,  as  if  the  fiery  cross  had  been  carried  through  their  valleys. 

Tliftir  force  was  divided  into'  two  bodies :  one  commanded  by  Murdoch 

Maokenciei  of  Red  Castle,  proceeded  by  Inverness,  with  the    view  of 

yoi.«in.  (1834.)  no.  i  l 


138  Guide  to  the  Highlands. 

fdllowing  the  pursuit'along  the  southern  side  of  Loch  Ness;  whilst  ano« 
ther,  headed  by  Alexander  Mackenzie  of  CouU,  struck  across  the  country, 
from  Beauly  to  the  northern  bank  of  the  lake,  in  the  footsteps  of  another 
party  which  had  fled  in  this  direction,  with  their  leader,  Allan  Mac 
Raonuill.  The  Mackenzies  overtook  these  last,  as  they  sought  a  brief 
repose  in  some  hills  near  the  burn  of  Altsay.  The  Macdonells  maintained 
an  unequal  conflict  for  some  time  with  much  spirit,  but  were  at  length 
forced  to  yield  to  superior  numbers,  and  fled  precipitately  to  the  burn. 
Many,  however,  missed  the  ford,  and,  the  channel  being  rough  and  rocky, 
were  overtoken  and  slain  by  the  victorious  Mackenzies.  Allan  Mac 
Raonuill  made  towards  a  spot  where  the  burn  rushed  through  a  yawning 
chasm  of  great  depth  and  breadth.  Forgetting  the  danger  of  the  attempt 
in  the  hurry  of  his  flight,  and  the  agitation  of  the  moment,  and  being  of 
an  atheltic  frame,  and  at  the  time  half  naked,  he  vigorously  strained  at, 
.and  succeeded  in  clearing  the  desperate  leap.  One  of  the  Mackenzies  in- 
considerately followed  him,  but,  wanting  the  impulse  of  those  powerful 
feelings  which  had  put  such  life  and  mettle  into  Allan's  heels,  he  had  not 
the  fortune  to  reach  the  top  of  the  bank :  grasping,  however,  the  branch 
of  a  birch  tree,  he  hung  suspended  over  the  abyss.  Mac  Raonuill, 
observing  his  situation,  turned  back  and  lopped  off  the  branch  with  his 
dirk,  exclaiming,  '  I  have  left  much  behind  me  with  you  to-day ;  take 
that  also.'  Allan  got  considerably  ahead  of  his  followers ;  and,  having" 
gained  the  brink  of  the  loch  bethought  him  of  attempting  to  swim  across, 
and,  plunging  in,  he  lustily  breaated  its  cool  and  refreshing  waters. 
Being  observed  from  the  opposite  side,  a  boat  was  sent  out  which  picked 
him  up. 

**  The  party  of  the  Macdonells,  who  fled  by  Inverness,  were  surprised 
by  Red  castle  in  a  public-house  at  Torbreck,  three  miles  to  the  west  of 
the  town,  where  they  stopped  to  refresh  themselves :  the  house  was  set  on 
Are,  and  they  all,  thirty-seven  in  number,  suffered  the  death  they  had  in 
the  early  part  of  the  day  so  wantonly  inflicted." — pp.  248,  249. 

Of  the  falls  themselves. 

"  The  falls  of  Foyers  arc  distant  about  a  mile  from  the  inn ;  and  being 
close  to  the  public  road  to  Fort  Augustus,  can  easily  be  found  without  a 
guide.  The  river  Foyers,  after  passing  across  the  highly  elevated  and 
chiefly  moorland  and  open  district  of  country  lying  to  the  south  of  Loch 
Ness,  on  its  reaching  the  hills  which  skirt  that  lake,  enters  a  deep  and 
narrow  ravine,  at  the  commencement  of  which  it  is  precipitated  over  a 
ledge  of  rock,  about  thirty  feet  in  height,  forming  the  upper  fall.  To 
view  it  to  the  best  advantage,  (and  the  traveller  should  first  visit  this 
upper  fall,  to  which  the  public  road  and  a  bridge  across  the  rive^  will 
lead  him,)  it  is  necessary  to  descend  to  the  channel  of  the  river  below  the 
bridge.  From  this  position,  the  appearance  of  the  headlong  and  tumul- 
tuous mass  of  waters  is  very  imposing ;  while  the  high  and  perpendicular 
rocks  between  which  the  river  pours  its  noisy  and  troubled  flood,  and- the 
aerial  single-arched  bridge  which  has  been  thrown  across  the  chasm,  add 
much  to  the  picturesque  effect.  A  pathway  will  be  found  immediately 
beside  the  bridge,  and  on  the  west  side  of  the  stream,  which  conducts  to 
the  pioper  point  of  view.  It  is,  however,  somewhat  difficult  to  reach  this 
situation ;  and  the  generality  of  visiters  content  themselves  with  ths'view 
from  the  bridge  or  the  rocks  above  the  fall.    Below  the  fall,  .the  ckuuael 


Guide  to  if*€  Highlands.  139 

of  the  river  is  deep  and  rocky,  and  shelves  rapidly  down  towards  the 
lake :  the  mountain  sides  are  clothed  with  luxuriant  woods  of  birch ;  and 
the  liver,  interrupted  in  its  course  by  numerous  masses  of  rock,  is  lashed 
into  foam,  and  hurries  impetuously  forward  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 
It  then  encounters  a  second  abrupt  descent,  and  is  dashed  through  a 
narrow  gap,  or  opening,  over  a  height  of  about  ninety  feet,  into  a  deep 
and  spacious  linn,  surrounded  with  lofty,  precipitous  rocks.  From  one 
side  of  this  gulf,  a  high  ledge  of  rock,  projecting  in  front  of  the  fall, 
obstructs  all  sight  of  it  from  any  point  along  the  margin  of  the  river.  As 
we  approach  this  greater  cataract,  the  ground  is  felt  to  tremble  from  the 
shock  of  the  falling  water ;  and  the  ear  is  stunned  with  its  sullen  and 
ceaseless  roar.  A  winding  footpath  strikes  off  from  the  public  road,  at 
the  commencement  of  a  parapet  wall,  and  leads  down  to  a  green  bank,  on 
the  poiut  of  the  projecting  barrier,  directly  opposite  to  and  on  a  level  with 
the  middle  of  the  fall.  Here  the  eye  can  scan  the  terrors  of  the  troubled 
gulf  beneath,  the  whole  extent  of  the  fall,  and  of  the  stupendous  over- 
hanging rocks,  waving  with  birch,  and  partially  covered  with  a  rank 
mossy  vegetation,  forced  into  life  by  the  volumes  of  vapour  which  float 
around.  The  accompaniments  of  wood  and  rock,  and  mountain  slope,  are 
always  attractive ;  but  when  the  river  is  swollen  with  rain,  the  scene 
assumes  the  features  of  sublimity,  and  the  spectator  regards  it  with 
mingled  feelings  of  awe  and  admiration.  The  living  spirit  of  the  waters 
wakens,  with  thundering  call,  the  echoes  of  the  solitude :  every  other 
sound  is  drowned,  and  all  nature  seems  attentive  to  the  voice  of  the 
billing  element ;  and  the  mighty  cauldron  is  filled  with  shifting  masses  of 
spray  frequently  illuminated  with  the  bright  and  lambent  tints  of  a  rain- 
bow."—pp.  862—264. 

In  the  neighbourhood  of  Fort  William,  the  most  prominent 
feature  is  Ben  Nevis,  long  though  inaccurately  reputed  the  highest 
mountain  in  Great  Britain. 

The  following  ia  a  felicitous  description  of  an  appalling  aspect 
of  waters. 

'*  Corryvreackan,  the  strait  between  the  northern  extremity  of  Jura 
and  the  mountainous  island  of  Scarba,  possesses  a  wide-spread  notoriety. 
The  commotion  of  the  tides  pouring  through  this  narrow  passage  is 
heightened  by  a  large  sunk  rock.  This  dangerous  communication  is 
studiously  avoided  by  vessels;  and  to  small  craft  at  certain  times  it 
would  prove  sure  destruction.  The  author  of  the  Statistical  Account  of 
Jura  gives  us  the  following  lively  picture  of  this  whirlpool : — *  The  gulf 
is  most  awful  with  the  flowing  tide ;  in  stormy  weather  with  that  tide 
it  exhibits  an  aspect  in  which  a  great  deal  of  the  terrible  is  blended. 
Vast  openings  are  formed,  in  which,  one  would  think,  the  bottom  might  . 
be  seen ;  immense  bodies  of  water  tumble  headlong  as  over  a  precipice, 
then,  rebounding  from  the  abyss,  they  dash  together  with  inconceivable 
impetuosity,  and  rise  foaming  to  a  prodigious  height  above  the  surface. 
The  noise  of  their  conflict  is  heard  throughout  the  surrounding  islands." 
—p.  366. 

Here  is  a  finer  and  lovelier  subject. 

**  Ijoch  Lomond,  ^  the  lake  full  of  Islands/  is  unquestionably  the  pride 
of  Scottiah  lakes,  from  its  extent,  its  numerous  islands,  and  the  varied 
efaonder  of  its  scenery.    Ita  length  is  about  twenty-three  miles.    At 


140  Guide  to  the  Hufhiandi. 

its  lowest  extremity,  where  it  idsinuatds  ite  %ater8  into  tbe  Vale  of 
Leven,  it  is  for  a  space  quite  narrow;  it  then  expands  on  either  hand, 
but  especially  on  the  east  sitie,  and  attains  in  some  places  a  breadth  of 
seYen  or  eight  miles.  Its  banks  again  approach  towards  each  ot^r,  anA 
thence  to  its  termination  the  lake,  winding  among  the  projecting  armi^ 
of  primitiTe  mountains,  and  sHghtly  altering  at  interrals  its  general 
bearings,  alternately  contracts  and  dilates  its  surface*  as  it  meets  and 
wheeh  round  the  impending  headlands,  among  which  it  at  last  loaes^ 
itself  in  a  narrow,  prolonged  stripe  of  water.  The  mountains,  in  general* 
gradually  increase  in  height,  steepness,  and  irregularity  of  surface  to- 
wards the  head  of  the  lake.  Those  on  the  west  are  intersected  by  various 
successive  glens,  as  Fruin,  Finlass,  Luss,  Douglas,  Tarbet,  and  Sloy. 
The  opposite  mountains  are  more  unbroken.  Numerous  little  bays  in- 
dent the  shores,  their  bounding  promontories  cozisisting  at  the  lower  end 
of  flat  alluvial  deposits,  but  towards  the  upper  parts  of  the  lake  passing 
into  inclined  rocky  slopes  and  abrupt  acclivities.  At  the  lower  extre* 
mity  also,  there  are  large  tracts  of  arable  ground ;  while  above  JLusa  tiiey 
oceur  only  at  intervals  in  the  mouth  of  the  glens,  at  the  bottom  of 
ravines,  or  in  open  spaces  created  by  the  partial  receding  of  the  hiUs^ 
Interrupted  masses  of  wood  and  coppice  diversify  the  face  of  the  hiljs  Da 
the  south  side ;  while  broad  zones  envelope  the  lower  portions  of  the 
mountains  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  oak  coppice,  mixed  with  alder,  birch, 
and  hazel,  predominating.  In  the  broader  part,  the  surface  of  the  water 
is  studded  with  islands  of  many  sizes  and  various  aspects — flat,  eloping* 
rocky,  heathy,  cultivated,  and  wooded.  The  islands  are  about  thirty  m 
number;  and  of  these,  ten  are  of  considerable  size,  as  Inchconaffan, 
which  is  half  a  mile  long;  Inchtavanach  and  Inchmoan,  each  three 
quarters ;  Jnchlonaig,  a  mile ;  and  Inchmurren  (the  most  southerly)  two 
miles  in  length.  These  two  last  are  used  as  deer  parka  by  the  families 
of  Luss  and  Montrose,  and  it  was  long  the  practice  to  place  insane. per- 
sons and  confirmed  drunkards  in  some  of  the  islands.  Several  gentlemen'^ 
residences,  which  encompass  the  lower  end  of  the  lake,  are  surrounded 
by  richly  wooded  parks.  A  few  miles  beyond  Luss  we  have  to  admire 
successive  mountain  slopes,  rising  one  behind  another  in  rugged  acclivi- 
ties, feathered  with  oak  coppice,  aud  irregular  rocky  precipices,  shootiog 
up  above;  the  ample  sides  of  Ben  Lomond,  in  particular,  extending 
north  and  south  in  lengthened  slopes,  his  lofty  head — a  compressed  peak 
— aspiring  to  the  clouds ;  while  towards  the  head  of  the  lake  the  towering^ 
alps  of  Arroquhar  and  Glenfialloch,  with  their  bulky  forms,  abrupt  sides, 
peaked  summits,  and  jagged  outlines,  terminate  the  prospect. "^-p.  340. 

From  these  extracts  some  notion  may  be  obtained  of  the  elegance ' 
and  fulness  with  which  this  volume  treats  of  every  thing  interesting 
in  the  highlands.  We  can  speak  of  its  accuracy,  many  of  the  pa.rts 
described  being  well  known  by  us.  There  are  besides  a  guide  tA 
tourists  in  search  of  the  beautiful  and  sublime^  chapters  on  the 
Geology  and  Botany^  the  Antiquities,  the  Vitrified  Forts,  &c.  dt 
the  highlands  and  islands,  which  are  densely  filled  with  information  ; 
and  we  conclude  by  declaring  that  in  every  respect  the  work  is 
highly  valuaUe,  and  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  one  who  either 
purposes  to  make  a  highland  tour,  or  beoome  versant  in  the  history 
of  such  an  important  p(»rtion  of  the  British  l^mpire. 


141 

NOTICB8. 


Ars^  X. — The  CoufU^s  o/  E^se»% 
a  Tragedy,  liondon :  Murray^ 
1834. 

Ths  leading*  characters  in  this  five- 
act  drama  belong  to  the  reign  of 
James  1.  of  England.  There  is  the 
Countess  of  Essex,  who  divorced 
from  her  first  lord,  "becomes  through 
a  guilty  passion,  the  Countess  of 
So^ierset.  Xh^re  is  the  Viscount 
Rochester,  her  second  husband,  af- 
terwards Earl  of  SomeTset,favourite 
of  the  king  \  and  Sir  Thomas  Over- 
buiy,  who  through  the  mach^ina- 
tions  of  the  Countess,  is  imprisoned 
and  poisoned.  Disg^race  overtakes 
the  guil^  ps^^*  <^^  ^^  tragedy 
ends  with  a  separation  between 
them,  occasioned  through  the  re- 
morse, and  returning  virtue  of  So- 
merset.' There  is  good  writing  in 
th^'j^iece,'  and  some  striking  situ- 
ations ;  hut  it  wants  variety,  stir, 
and  power.  The  plot  is  'meagre  and 
feebly  managed ;  and  the  winding- 
up  not  6c|uai  to  the  earlier  scenes, 
■^    ■  -  ■ '    .  —  -  — 

A:Kn^,lSS..^TheB€manee  of  History, 
'^lidfy.  By  C.  Macfarlane.  In 
lbn%  vols. — ^Vol.  1.  London: 
BhU  at  Churton,    HoUe^street, 

This  first  volume  of  a  work  that' 
is  wellknown^  contains  The  Fes- 
tival of*  Monza ;  The  Wandering 
King;  Th^  Last  of  the  Lom- 
bards; The  Pope's  Daughter; 
The  Captive  Queen;  and  The 
Norman  Pilgrims.  The  work  is 
printed  and  bound  up  according 
to  the  present  fashion  of  the  11- 
brarieS;  and  the  popular  collec- 
tions of  novels,  poems,  and  other 
celebrated  publications,  that  ap- 
pe^  monthly;  consisting  of  a 
series  of  volumes.  These  tales 
belbng  to  the  dark  ages,  Mr, 
Macfarlane  thinking  such  periods 


peculiarly  within  the  province  o( 
•Komantic  Annals ;  and  mare  to 
the  south  of  Italy  than  to  the 
north,  because  the  history  and 
soenery  of  the  kingdom  cf  Na* 
pies,  are,  in  his  opinion,  still 
more  suitable  to  his  purpose  than 
those  of  Upper  Italy. 

It  seems  a  very  indefinite  and 
upcertain  attempt  thus  to  illus- 
trate History ;  and  nothing  short 
of  an  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  age  and  its  materials  can 
enable  a  writer  to  embody^ the 
characteristic  features  and  spirit 
of  a  oonntry  and  peofde.  Scott 
in  his  historical  romances  and 
tales  has  succeeded  so  well,  as 
perhaps,  to  afiford  a  more  vivid 
likeness  of  his  subjects,  than  the 
most  grave  and  laborious  chro- 
niclers have  ever  done.  Mr.  Mac- 
farlane, we  wiU  not  say,  has  come 
up  to  the  great  magiciam  still 
bis  attempt  is  good  and  praise- 
worthy ;  whilst  his  tales,  as  such^ 
are  beautiful  and  tasted.  The 
illustrations  of  this  volume  by 
Landseer,  are  as  luci^y  detailed, 
yet  soft  and  delicate,  as  any  thing 
m  the  same  order  of  art,  we  ev^ 
beheld. 

Art.  XII. — The  Hanwell  Extracts. 
London :  Longman  &  Co.,  1834. 

In  the  preface  we  are  told,  that 
the  Hanwell  Academic  Institu- 
tion was  established  for  the  pur- 
pose of  advancing  a  system  of 
education,  in  which,  emulation, 
rewards,  and  punishments  are 
superseded  by  purer  and  mora 
enduring  motives, — those  arising 
from  the  culture  and  regulation 
of  the  aflkctions ;  and,  that  ere 
long,  the  experiment  was   sue- 


142 


NotiCfii' 


cessfiil;  and  proved  the  ^superi- 
ority of  the  principle  recognised 
and  held  forth  as  a  guide.  In 
selecting  exercises  for  readings 
those  passages  which  inculcate  or 
celebrate  sentiments  at  variance 
with  the  moral  culture  of  the  pu- 
pils^  have  been  avoided.  Shak- 
speare,  therefore,  and  other  dis- 
tinguished writers,  have  been  in 
a  great  measure  forsaken,  because 
revenge,  or  a  love  of  miUtary 
glory  are  the  great  themes  of 
their  praise.  Even  the  speech  of 
Young  Norval,  in  the  tragedy  of 
Douglas,  falls  under  this  charge. 
Instead  of  these  things,  an  at- 
tempt is  made  to  generate  a  dis- 
position that  will  confer  dignity 
on  useful  pursuits  and  humble 
efforts. 

This  attempt  which  is  so  praise- 
worthy, looks  therefore,  much 
more  to  the  moral  influence  of 
the  paissages  extracted,  than  to 
the  merit  of  composition.  Ac- 
cordingly we  have  matter  drawn 
from  sources  not  usually  resorted 
to  in  such  collections  as  this.  The 
works  quoted  from  are  chiefly 
modem,  among  which  we  observe 
the  Penny  Magazine  figures.  We 
have  no  objection  to  this  :  but  in 
not  a  few  instances  we  think 
higher  authority,  and  happier 
extracts  might  have  been  found, 
than  several  here  resorted  to. 
The  only  other  peculiarities  of 
importance  in  this  compilation 
are,  that  particular  duties  and 
subjects  are  treated  in  the  chap- 
ter, and  without  separating  the 
poetry  from  the  prose,  with  such 
a  distribution  of  anecdotes  as 
tends  to  illustrate  and  enliven  the 
sentiments  inculcated. 

Every  good  man  must  wish 
success  may  attend  the  endea- 


vours of  the  conductors  of  the 
Hanwell  Academy.  We  of  the 
old  school  ere  only  somewhat 
sceptical  as  regards  the  practical 
results  of  the  experiment.  Yet^ 
it  seems  to  be  in  consononce  with 
the  principles  of  Christianity, 
and  if  wisely  managed ;  if  on  a 
basis  sufficiently  broad  and  en- 
lightened all  the  branches  of  the 
Institution  be  regulated,  we  doabt 
not  of  its  success. 

Art.  XIII. — A  Letter  to  GenercU 
Ld,  Beresford^  being  an  Answer 
to  his  Lordship^s  assumed  Refu- 
tation of  Colonel  Napier^ s  Justi- 
fication of  his  Third  Volume. 
By  W.  P.  Napibk,  C.  B.  Lon- 
don :  T.  and  W.  Boone,  New 
Bond  Street.     1834. 

We  cannot  here  undertake  to  give 
an  opinion  on  the  merits  of  this 
controversy,  reRpecting  matten  in 
themselves  so  disputable,  and  so 
distant  from  our  cognizance.  On'e 
thing,  however,  is  manifest,  and  to 
a  remarkable  degree,  that  Colonel 
Napier  is  no  ordinary  antagonist. 
There  is  a  clearness,  a  strong^,  a 
comprehensiveness,  in  his  writingps, 
that  not  only  must  command  our 
admiration  of  his  talents  as  a  mili- 
tary historian,  but  gain  our  favour 
over  to  the  view  he  entertains  and 
enforces,  and  our  reliance  upon  his 
statements,  when  opposed  or  con- 
tradicted by  a  feebler  hand.  We 
accordingly  consider  that  it  will 
hereafter  be  the  best  thing  Lord 
Beresford  can  do,  in  reference  to 
this  controversy,  to  let  it  drop  en* 
tirely  on  his  side ;  for  he  may  de- 
pend upon  it,  that  he  will  have  the 
worst  fall  at  the  end.  We  cannot, 
however,  do  more  than  recommend 
to  those  who  are  curious  or  skilled 
in  military  tactics,  or  to  those  to 
whom  controversy  and  hard  hitting 
are  agreeable,  the  present  and  the 
foregoing   statements,     regarding 


Notices, 


Hi 


Lord  Beresford's  military  skill  and 
behaviour  at  Campo  Mayor  and 
Albuera. 

AitT.  XIV. — Report  of  the  Commit' 
tee  of  the  Donoaster  Agnoulttt- 
ral  Association  on  the  Turnip 
Ffy,  and  the  means  of  its  Pre- 
vention, 

Tub  inquiry  on  the  turnip  fly  was 
undertaken  in  1830,  and  this  pam- 
phlet contains  the  returns  received 
from  102  correspondents,  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  England  and  Scotland, 
A  number  of  points  were  put  to 
those  correspondents,  on  which  an- 
swers were  requested  to  be  made, 
and  these  answers  have  been  em- 
bodied in  an  analysis,  appended  [to 
the  report,  forming  a  useful  and 
experimental  body  of  informatidn. 
The  ravages  of  this  fly  are  lament- 
able.   It  is  one  of  the  most  formid- 
able enemies  that  can  attack  a  crop. 
As  soon  as  the  plant  appears  above 
ground,  in   its  first  and   weakest 
state  of  growth,  the  insect  fastens 
on  it.  .  A  few  wounds  is  then  too 
often  fatal  to  the  tender  vegetable. 
This  insect,  it  would  appear,  has 
never  been  subjected  to  the  eye  of 
,the  entomologist.     The  manner  of 
its  generation,   its  earlier  habits, 
and  infant  growth,  have  not  been 
ascertained;    and   this  leaves  the 
correctives  of  the  farmer  to  theory 
and  imagination. 

The  results  of  the  investigation 
set  on  foot  on  this  occasion  by  the 
Doncaster  Agricultural  Association, 
whose  exertions  have  not  only  been 
praiseworthy  hitherto,  but  are,  as 
we  are  happy  to  hear,  continuing 
to  be  conducted  with  spirit  and 
judgment,  have  been  several  highly 
important  practical  points  of  in- 
formation. The  following  are  a 
few  of  the  directions  drawn  from 
the  fads. and  opinions  transmitted 
to  the  Committee  :— 

M  -The  most  effectual  way  by  which 
to  insure  the  speedy  growth  of  the 
turnip  plant,  is  to  have  the  land  in 


the  best  possible  state  of  cultiva- 
tion ;  that  scuffling  and  ploughing 
the  land  before  winter,  and  clear- 
ing the  hedge-bottoms,  and  any 
other  place  likely  to  harbour  tlw 
insect,  should  be  systematically  ob- 
served ;  that  the  fallow  should  be 
completed  as  early  as  possible,  to 
give  an  opportunity  to  sow  at  a  fa« 
vourable  season ;  that  the  system  of 
ridging,  with  manure  under  the 
rows,  and  drilling  on  the  ridge,  be 
adopted ;  that  this  ridging  be  when 
the  land  is  not  in  too  dry  a  state ; 
that  the  seed  be  not  deposited  in 
the  manure,  but  the  manure  be 
thinly  covered  with  soil,  and  the 
seed  drilled  in  this  soil;  that  a  very 
liberal  allowance  of  seed  be  given, 
three  or  four  pounds  per  acre  for 
drill,  six  or  seven  for  broadcast, 
this  seed  being  of  one  year's  growth; 
that  as  soon  as  the  plant  appears 
above  ground,  it  be  dusted  with 
quick  lime,  and  this  repeated  as 
often  as  rain  or  wind  beats  it  off, 
and  the  fly  re-appears ;  and  that  in 
places  which  suit,  and  in  seasons 
particularly  dry,  watering  by  a  ma- 
chine be  resorted  to." 

Under  these  precautions,  the 
Committee  confidently  trust  that 
the  loss  of  crop  from  the  turnip  fly 
may  be,  in  most  cases,  prevented. 
We  recommend  the  pamphlet  to 
the  attention  of  practical  men. 

Art.  XV.—  TheBook  of  Penalties, 
or  Summary  of  the  Pecuniary 
Penalties^  inflicted  by  the  Laws 
of  England^  on  the  Commercial^ 
Manufacturing,  Trading,  and 
Professional  Classes,  in  their  se- 
veral occupations  and  businesses. 

These  penalties,  impo«ed  for  the 
protection  of  the  public  revenue, 
for  the  purpoaes  of  police,  and 
for  the  security  of  individual 
transactions,  as  we  are  told  in  the 
preface,  are  extremely  numerous, 
and  not  unfirequently  ruinous  in 
operation.  .  Hfirdly  a  pursuit  of 


144 


Nai$€9$. 


dvil  life^  whether  of  {deasure  or 
profit,  can  be  entered  upon,  with- 
out beooming  liable  to  penal  vi- 
sitation. We  cannot  travel  on  the 
highway,  swing  a  gate,  read  a 
newspaper,  buy  a  pair  of  stock*- 
ings,  receive  or  pay  money,  take 
medicine,  nor  even  engage  in  re- 
ligious worship,  without  beingob- 
noxious  to  some  overt  or  latent 
enactment  scattered  through  the 
wide  waste  of  the  '  Statutes  at 
Large*, 

In  estimating  the  intricacies 
of  the  ramifications  of  society, 
the  extent  of  our  activities  as  a 
people,  and  our  peculiar  genius, 
the  nature  and  multitude  of  these 
salutary  prohibitions  afford  as 
distinct  a  key,  as  any  one  kind 
of  information  can  do.  From 
what  is  anxiously  forbidden,  we 
may  gather  what  is  most  fondly 
chosen ;  from  what  we  can  bear, 
our  strength  can  as  well  be  cal- 
culated, as  from  what  we  can  do. 
The  volume  before  us  brings  into 
a  small  compass  this  negative  and 
puBsive  sort  of  evidence.  It  is, 
oesides,  a  most  curious  compen- 
dium 0^  legislation,  such  as  no 
fismcy  could  have  planned,  and  no 
inteUigence  can  reconcile.  Every 
species  of  produce  and  industry 
is  most  carefiilly  protected  and 
fostered  by  enactments  in  one 
shape  or  another,  whilst  it  may 
be  averred,  that  in  another,  the 
same  things  are  the  objects  of 
suspicion  and  extinction.  So  that 
it  nas  long  been  a  difficult  task 
for  any  man  to  tell  what  he  may 
or  may  not  safely  do. 

This  work  is  the  first  attempt 
that  has  been  made,  to  simpUfy 
and  elucidate  such  a  heterogene- 
ous mass.  The  whole  of  the  pe- 
cuniary penalties  are  lucidly  ar- 
rangea  aind  comprised  in  it :  whe- 
ther they  pgint  to  the  pursuits 
of  importers,  merchants,  ship- 


owners, bankers,  manufooturersy 
shop-keepers,  victuallers,  trades^ 
men,  or  housekeepers.  What  the 
oflfence  is,  and  what  the  penalty 
incurred,  are  pointed  out :  WhiLst 
the  section  and  act  of  parliament 
under  which  each  penalty  is  in- 
flicted, are  carefiiHy  specified. 
This  was  clearly  a  work  of  diffi- 
culty, particularly  as  only  the 
penalties  that  are  enforced  are 
attended  to,  whilst  the  repealed 
ones  are  left  out.  This  Manual 
in  a  cheap  and  convenient  form, 
enables  individuals  to  learn,  the 
snares  with  which  they  are  en- 
vironed. It  does  more,  it  enables 
any  one  after  a  slight  inspection, 
to  perceive  the  practical  absur- 
dity of  much  disjointed  theoretic 
wisdom,  and  should,  therefore, 
lead  to  great  amendments. 

At  the  end  of  the  work,  is  sub- 
joined a  Digest  of  the  Local  Acts 
of  the  Metropolis,  with  an  Ap- 
pendix of  the  Customs  and  Pri- 
vileges of  the  City  of  London  : 
which  renders  it  much  more  va- 
luable to  those  immediately  con- 
cerned, and,  indeed,  to  every  per- 
son in  the  empire;  for  who  is 
there  of  the  whole  of  our  popu- 
lation that  stands  unconne<H^ 
with  the  metropolis  ?  The  short- 
est glance  at  the  heads  of  any 
one  of  the  different  chapters  into 
which  the  volume  is  divided,  will 
satisfy  any  one  that  it  contains, 
not  merely  an  immense  deal  of 
necessary  information,  but  in- 
formation that  he  himself  is 
deeply  concerned  in.  We  there- 
fore, recommend  it  to  every  one, 
especially  in  active  life ;  or  rather, 
a  sight  of  the  book  itsdf,  will  in- 
stantly be  the  best  recommenda- 
tion. Hereafter,  at  any  rate,  it 
will  be  a  man^s  own  finilt  in  a 
great  measure,  if  he  incur  any, 
pecuniary  penalty. 


THE 


MONTHLY    REVIEW 


OCTOBER,    1834. 


Art.  I, —  The  Angler  in  Wales,  or  Days  and  Nights  of  Spartsmen*  By 
Thomas  Medwin,  Esq.     London:  Richard  Bentley.     1834. 

We  love  to  think  of  the  Angler*s  '^ilent  trade.'  How  oft  ere  we 
knew  the  many  turns  of  this  tortuous  world,  have  we  wandered  far 
and  away,  by  some  classic  stream^  following  our  favourite  pastime ! 
It  was  in  Scotia's  sheltered  vales,  and  among  her  rugged  or  heathery 
hills  we  learned  to  wile  the  wary  trout  from  his  hiding-place^  or 
take  him  at  bis  greedy  seasons.  There  are  pleasures  for  anglers, 
which  none  but  anglers  know.  But  they  have  been  familiar  to  us 
from  our  tiny  boyhood.  So  much  so,  indeed,  that  we  made  the 
solitude  and  the  waste  of  the  uplands,  near  our  father's  home,  all 
our  own.  It  was  not  the  sport  alone  which  won  our  love.  The 
thousand  silent  surrounding  monitors,  or  symbols  of  purity  and 
peace,  that  dwelt  within  the  region  of  our  pastime,  were  far  better 
than  all  that  rod  or  pannier  could  present.  For  he  who  understands 
this  pensive  employment  knows,  that,  like  woman's  gentle  occupa- 
tions, it  usurps  not  too  much  of  the  subtle  and  soaring  spirit,  but 
that  the  hand  may  be  at  once  expert,  and  the  thought  excursive. 

We  say  it  was  among  the  loveliest  and  the  remotest  scenes  of 
Scotland  we  learned,  or  rather  knew,  the  angler's  art  in  our  boyhood. 
*  We  '  paidled  in  the  burn  when  simmer  days  were  fine,'  without 
society  and  without  companions.  We,  on  the  green  pastures  by  the 
quiet  wators,  ever  and  anon  basked  in  the  sun,  eat  our  crust  of 
bread  and  cheese,  and  recruited  ourselves  for  renewed  achievements 
with  rod  and  line.  But  no  learned  book  had  we  ever  read  to  teach 
us  the  ^  gentle  art.*  We  know  not  how  we  came  by  it,  but  still,  as 
if  courting  our  hand,  there  was  no  lack  of  prey.  Forgive  us  then, 
ye  erudite  sportsmen,  if  we  are  somewhat  incredulous  respecting 
your  sage  maxims,  and  philosophic  rules.  It'wfts  with  spliced  ash 
or  hazel  rod  we  worked ;  our  flies  were  like  nothing  above  or  be- 
neath the  earth ;  our  hpoks  had  more  than  bnce  been  bended  pins, 

VOL.  111.    (1934.)    NO.  II.  M 


146  ^  The  Angler  in  Wales, 

and  yet  the  pannier^  of  our  own  rough  workmanship  too,  became 
heavy  with  spoU.  Alas !  those  days  are  gone ;  we  are  now  middle- 
aged,  grey  hairs  are  to  be  seen  among  our  locks,  and  wrinkles  im- 
planted upon  our  forehead ;  yet  we  venture  to  wager  a  Scotchman's 
winter  dinner  of  beef  and  greens,  fit  for  half  a  dozen  hungry  curlers, 
with  punch  to  boot,  or  some  summer  daintier  food,  that  even  at 
this  day  we'll  astonish  ^  The  Author  of  the  Conversations  of  Lord 
Byron,'  Mr.  Thomas  M edwin,  and  beat  him  hollow  at  the  ^  gentle 
art,'  though  he  be  the  writer  of  these  two  goodly  octavos. 

The  volumes  are  very  pleasant  reading,  and  just  the  sort  of  thing 
that  becomes  an  dngler  to  write ;  we  mean  in  respect  of  that  off- 
hand matter  that  is  every  now  and  then  brought  m  just  as  &ncy 
chooses.  It  is  according  to  the  same  sort  of  propensity,  that  aU 
true  men  of  the  rod  and  line  make  themselves  such  lightsome  and 
tasteful  companions :  yea,  and  instructive.  For  we  admit  that  the 
author  is  a  water  sportsman  of  considerable  experience.  But  still, 
when  we  hear  him  so  profuse  with  observations  upon  the  colour  and 
shape  of  flies,  and  so  frequently  mentioning  the  action  of  the  reel, 
we  must  declare,  that,  according  to  our  practical  knowledge,  he  iar 
not  a  first-rate  angler.  He  talks  not  seldom  of  spinning  the  min- 
now. If  we  had  an  answer  to  one  question,  his  status  could  be 
soon  accurately  fixed  by  us,  at* least  in  relation  to  our  ownselves. 
The  question  is, — Does  he  patronise  a  swivel?  If  the  answer  be  in 
the  affirmative,  then  we  tell. him  be  has  no  chance  with  us,  in  that 
branch  oi  the  art ;  and  that  with  his  swivel,  his  reel,  and  his  finely 
busked  and  described  flies,  we  can  only  set  him  down  as  a  good 
Cockney  fisherman  by  burn  and  river,  and  never  able  to  compete  with 
us,  who  belong  to  the  same  class  as  did  the  dextrous  urchin  of  the 
Red  Gauntlet,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Nith.  But  we  must  proceed  to 
point  out  whatever  has  most  particularly  claimed  our  notice  in  these 
volumes,  in  which  there  is  much  more  to  praise  than  blame.  Nor 
shall  we,  after  having  placed  the  author  in  his  proper  sphere  as  an 
angler,  be,  in  what  follows,  inclined  to  say  much  more  on  that  head ; 
and  the  rather,  because  we  have  just  this  moment  discovered  that 
he  recommends  spliced  ash-wood  rods  before  every  other  sort  or 
fashion.  This  is  speaking  Uke  a  man  of  practical  knowledge,  and 
raises  him  a  step  higher,  in  our  estimation,  among  anglers.  But, 
before  we  give  any  thing  of  the  author's  about  the  piscatory  tribes, 
here  is  something  of  the  canine.  The  scene  is  tax  firom  Wales>  for 
indeed,  he  is  almost  as  often  on  the  Continent  or  in  India  as  at 
home. 

**  Byron  had  a  Cerberus,  in  the  shape  of  an  English  buli-dog.  As  I 
said  before,  his  name  was  Tiger.  He  was  fastened  at  the  top  ot  the  co- 
lossal flight  of  steps  in  the  Casa  Lanfranchi,  with  a  rope  long  enough  to 
enable  him  to  guard  the  passage  to  what  some,  who  attribute  to  Lord 
Byron  a  cloven  foot,  might  call  his  inferno.  The  animal  was  an  intelli- 
gent one;  and  though  little  inclined  to  make  new  acquaintance,  soon 
learned  to    distinguish  his    master's    habitues,  and   allowed  him  the 


7%e  Angler  m  Wales.  147 

^ntr4e^  oontentmg  himself  with  growling  at  one  and  wagging  his  tail 
at  anotlier — ^a  compliment,  however,  seldom  paid  to  any.  but  ShoUey. 
•Byron  wag  much  attached  to  this  fine  creature,  and  frequently  had  him 
loosed  when  playing  at  billiards,  his  favourite  game.  An  anecdote  is 
told,  very  characteristic  of  the  poet,  in  which  my  gruff  friend  Tiger 
played  a  distinguished  part 

*'*•  It  has  become  an  historical  fact,  and  one  of  almost  as  great  import- 
ance as   the    meeting  of  the  Triumvirate  to   decide  the  fate  of  the 
world,  that  *  Childe  Harold'  and  the  *  Bard  of  Memory'  met  at  Pisa. 
Rogers,  in  one  of  his  sentimental  notes,  had  announced  the  probability 
of  this  interesting  event,  and  Byron  heard  at  length  that  he  had  decendu 
at  the  '  Tre  Donzelle.'  Knowing  that  Rogers  was  momentarily  to  appear, 
Byron  gave  orders  to  Tita  to  introduce  the  monkey  and  bull-dog.  1  think 
I  see  Byron  in  his  jacket,  stumping  round  the  billiard-room  with  the 
heavy  sound  that,  once  heard,  could  not  be  mistaken,  and,  after  making 
some  successful  hit,  bursting  out  into  one  of  his  usual  gibes  or  flashes 
of  merriment,  which  success  always  inspired,  or  dividing  his  caresses 
between  Jacko  and  Tiger.     There   existed  no  slight  jealousy  between 
the  two  favourites,  which  showed  itself  on  the  part  of  the  latter  by  a 
short,  loud,  angry  bark  at  his  rival,  whilst  the  ape  sat  perched  out  of 
reach,  grinning  and  chattering  defiance,  to  the  no  small  amusement  of 
their  master.    The  coming  of  the  expected  guest  was  now  announced  by 
a  bark  of  deeper  intonation,  which  Byron  made  no  effort  to  repress,  but 
returned  to  the  game,  to  which  he  affected,  with  one  of  his  cynic  grins, 
to  pay  more  than  common  attention.     In  the  mean  time  Tiger  rushed 
furiously  at  the  stranger,  who  backed  to  a  comer  of  the  room,  shiver- 
ing and  breathless  with  terror.     Byron,  without  casting  a  look  towards 
the  poor  bard  at  bay,  contented  himself  with  drawling  out,  at  inter- 
vals,'T — i — ger,  Ti — i — ger,'  but  in  such  an  accent  as  rather  to  en- 
courage than  check  the  baiter,   who   continued .  a  furious  concert    of 
menaces  at  the  *  Death  in    life,  or   departed   Mr.  Rogers.'    Byron  at 
length  pretended  to  discover  the  cause  of  the  affray;  to  kick  Tiger 
aside,  and  press  his  *  dear  h'iend  ^  in  his  arms,  was  only  the  affair  of 
an  instant.    It  was  a  fine  piece  of  acting :  the  mock  fervour  of  his  pro- 
fession of  regard, .  hl»  upbraidings  and  threats  to  Tiger — nothing,  in 
stage  langn^age,  could  surpass  the  situation." — pp.  24-^26,  vol.  i. 

This  was  a  joke  too  practical  for  our  liking :  but  we  come  to  the 
eomparative  merits  of  trolling  and  fly-fishing.  The  last  certainly  is 
by  much  the  finer  art,  but  the  other  the  more  deadly,  if  the  weight, 
not  the  number  of  fish  be  counted.  The  subject  is  in  this  instance 
treated  of  in  the  shape  of  dialogue. 

"  •  I  should  be  sorry  to  become  a  convert  to  your  doctrines.  So  you 
have  discarded  the  fly  altogether  ?' 

*«'  I  used  it  at  first;  but  my  objections  to  it  were  taken  from  observing 
that,  .amongst  the  most  expert  fly-fishers,  no  one  was  perfectly  satisfied. 
The  day  was  too  fine^  or  too  foul ;  the  water  too  clear,  or  too  muddy ;  the  * 
wind  too  viol^it,  or  too  low,  or  in  the  wrong  quarter;  and  if  none  of 
these  vexations  could  be  referred  to,  there  was  a  never-failing  reason 
for  unsucceas : — it  was  not  the  right  fly." 

"'That  reason  is  an  obvious  one,  doubtlhM^  It  is  essential  to  hit  the 
exact  coUjvjr  and  form  of  the  fly.     But  go  on.' 

m2 


148  The  Angler  in  Wales. 

"  *  Essential  as  that  point  may  be,  bow  often  is  it  aceompUahed  ?  A 
trolling  bait,  such  as  mine,  will  answer  at  all  seasons,  weathers  and 
places.  The  fiy  can  only  be  thrown  at  particular  spots  of  a  rapid, 
rocky,  wood-fringed  river,  and  these  generally  are  the  rery  ^ots  least 
frequented  by  the  monarchs  of  the  stream.  But  should  you  make  a 
fortunate  cast,  and  find  one  of  them  at  home,  first  he  is  disturbed  by  the 
agitation  of  the  surface ;  next,  you  are  open  to  his  observation — a  eir- 
cumstance  of  itself  sufficient  to  scare  and  banish  every  trout  that  has 
arrived  at  years  of  discretion.  As  to  the  small  trout,  you  may  have  tbeoa 
at  all  times,  for  age  and  eisperience  make  an  extraordinary  difference  hi 
he  habits  of  fish,  as  of  other  animals.' " — pp.  39,  40,  vol.  i. 

We  have  a  word  to  say  about '  the  exact  colour  and  form  of  tb^ 
ily/  on  which  all  dandy  anders  are  so  eloquent.  It  is  this : — ^that 
this  exactness  is  never  found;  neither  is  it  necessary,  by  any  means, 
to  the  extent  which  all  that  are  young  in  the  art  would  lead  one 
to  believe.  We  have  often  found  an  artificial  fly  of  Quite  an  oppo- 
site form  and  colour  to  the  natural  one  on  the  water,  lull  in  a  man* 
ner»  and  at  a  rate,  that  set  at  nought  all  such  rules  as  merely  look 

Sretty  upon  paper ;  and  the  plain  fact  was  and  is  this,  that  a  vast 
eal  more  depends  upon  the  management  of  the  fly  than  upon  ita 
•size,  shape,  or  shade.  In  the  audior's  words,  the  fly  must  ^  drop 
like  the  parachute  of  the  dandelion  I*  And  we  add,  it  must  fiiU 
within  six  inches  of  the  precise  spot  you  wish  it  to  do.  And  what  la 
still  more  essential,  the  angler  must  give  it  a  style  of  movement,  such 
as  upon  the  crisping  curls  of  the  stream,  deceives  and  seduces  the 
object  of  his  sport.  '  A  line  of  the  right  colour '  is  also  insisted  on, 
to  suit  that  of  the  water.  Alas  !  when  bare-legged,  and  never  pos- 
sessed of  more  than  the  hairs  pulled  from  a  colt's  tail,  which  were 
as  often  black  as  white,  what  should  we  have  thought,  if  dyed  gut 
had  been  idone  efficient !  All  we  could  conmiand  was  a  rod  of  our 
own  making,  a  cast-line  of  a  length  to  pu^&zle  the  hand  and  head  of 
any  ordinary  fiiU-grown  man,  thick  and  heavy  near  the  top  of  the 
rod,  but  gradually  lessening  to  the  strength  of  two  perfect  hairs. 
Then,  in  right  or  left  hand,  it  mattered  little  whidi,  we  played 
arcAind  us  with  all  the  ease  and  graorfulness  of  a  niaster  of  fencing. 
And  thus  we  filled  our  basket.  In  truth  it  is,  as  Mr.  Medwin  in 
part  knows  and  tells,  that  no  rules  or  apparatus,  however  perfectly 
prepared,  can  at  all  equal  one  day's  observance  of  a  practised  hand. 
We  are  presented  with  a  discourse  concerning  the  degree  of 
acuteness  in  the  senses  of  the  piscatory  tribes.  Sir  Humphrey 
Davy  had  a  hard-hearted  theory  on  the  question,  and  received  from 
Christopher,  in  Blackwood's  Magazine,  who  is  one  of  the  best 
anglers  in  the  world,  a  suitable  lecture.  The  great  chemist  says,  a 
'pricked  fish  will  not  rise  again,  though  he  gives  an  instance  of  a 
pike's  voracity,  by  one  being  produced  at  table,  with  his  hooks  and 
tackle  within  it,  which  he  had  lost  some  short  time  before. 

"  He  mentions  no  such  fact  regarding  trout,  but  I  can  tell  you  one  that 
happened  to  me  the  other  day  at  Postlip,  near  Winchcomb,  in  Glouces- 
tershire, where  I  was  indebted  for  a  good  day's  sport  to  their  liberal  and 


The  Angler  in  Wulei.  149 

tospitable  pn>prietDr,  Mr.  Tregent.  I  had  been  tdd  there  were  eome 
good  fi#h  in  the  mill*dani,  and  thither  this  gentleman  and  myself  pro- 
ceeded. Scarcely  a  raimite  elapsed  ere  my  companion  (we  both  used  the 
same  bait)  hooked  a  fish^  whose  strength  proved,  after  some  Sniggling, 
too  much  for  his  tackle.  The  gut  bi*oke  some  inches  above  the  hook, 
and  the  fish  was  lost.  In  the  same  spot,  and  within  a  lew  minutes,  not 
more  than  fire,  I  found  myself  engaged  violently,  and  succeeded  in 
landing  the  trout.  The  identical  hook  and  tackle  lost  by  my  com- 
panion, and  which  he  had  just  time  to  supply,  was  sticking  in  the  mouth 
of  the  animal.     His  weight  exceeded  three  pounds." — pp.  60,  61,  vol.  i. 

To  thia  we  append,  that  trouts  have  broke  away  from  us,  and  in 
the  course  of  the  same  day  have  again  been  caaght,  having  the  lost 
fly  still  sticking  in  their  lips.  But  in  all  such  cases^  the  hold  was 
so  aligfat,  as  evidently  not  to  reach  the  seat  of  much  vitality.  Yet, 
these  instances  are  estremely  rare,  nor  have  we  any  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  a  pricked  fish  will  soon  forget  the  narrow  escape  he  made. 
One  thing  is  clear^  if  the  hook  fixes  in  the  tongue  he  soon  dies, 
and  we  should  sui^ose  the  pain  is  exquisite. 

To  leave  off  for  a  little  this  topic;  Mr.  Medwin,  we  shoald  sup- 
pose^  is,  on  religious  points^  a  latitndinarian^  and  not  a  little  fond  of 
showing  that  he  is  so.  This  sceptical  sobriety  and  coldness  suit 
badly  oar  conception  of  a  true  angler^  pensive  and  pious>  as  such 
^f>rer  stand  well  defined  m  oar  mind's  eye. 

"All  religions  have  their  mummeries,  and  the  ignorant  and  unen- 
lightened, ndio  can  form  no  metaphysical  notion  of  the  attributes  of  a 
God,  must  have  some  type  of  his  goodness  or  power,  by  which  to  be 
taught  to  acknowledge  Him.  The  true  Brahman  is  like  the  philoso- 
phers of  old  :  but,  not  to  enter  into  this  subject,  the  mythological  wor- 
ship of  Greece  and  Rome,  that  of  the  saints  and  relics  of  the  Romish 
Church,  and  the  adoration  of  the  Virgin,  are  liot  more  ridiculous  than 
this  baptism  and  regeneration  of  the  poor  Hindus,  which  they  perform 
in  honour  of  one  of  their  Nine  Incarnations." — p.  72,  vol.i. 

So,  all  religions  have  their  mummeries.  How  very  liberal !  how 
wonderful  the  extent  of  our  knowledge !  There  are  people  too  that 
can  form  no  metaphysical  notion  of  die  attributes  of  a  God.  Can 
you,  late  of  the  First  Foot  Guards,  tell  us  what  you  mean  by  the 
Infinitude  of  Deity,  or  his  Spirituality  ?  If  we  mistake  not,  your 
amative  descriptions  will  come  no  nearer  the  truth  than  the  pea^ 
sant's  thoughts  carry  him,  whilst  the  boasted  strength  of  your 
metaphysics  chills  your  heart  many  degrees  below  the  countryman's 
warmth. 

Here's  a  good  anecdote  of  little  Moc»*e : 

*' A  friend  and  himself  made  an  excursion  to  Greenwich  to  eat  white 
bait,  which  I  am  told  is  as  fine  as  the  Mango  fish  at  Calcutta,  or  Pom^ 
fret  at  Madras.  This  friend  was  no  other  than  Lord  Strangford,  who, 
determined  to  hoax  his  brother  bard  {quelle  malice  !  as  you  say),  had 
bought,  before  he  left  town,  a  small-toothed  horn  comb,  which,  when  Ihe 
soup  was  served,  he  dropped  secretly  into  the  tureen.  Moore  found  the 
contents  delicious,  and  was  over  persuaded  by  his  titled   hon  vivani 


150  .  The  Angler  in  Wales. 

(though,  according  to  the  immortal  Brummel,  it  is  highly  incorrect)  to 
be  helped  a  second  time  to  soup ;  when,  what  should  be  ladled  out  into 
the  plate  but  the  damning  evidence  of  the  cook's  cleanliness  ?  Tommy'n 
fertile  imagination  peopled  it  with  a  hundred — h^rs.^  The  story  goes  to 
say,  he  ate  no  white  bait  that  day." — ^p.  99$  100,  vol.  i. 

The  next  story  is  as  good. 

"  My  friend,  Sir  Ulysses  O'Shaunessey,  was  walking  with  his  lady  in 
the  environs  of  the  lake  of  Killarney,  where  he  was  going  out  salmon- 
fishing,  and  met  an  old  beldam,  named  Mrs.  Malwadding. — ^"The  top  of 
the  morning  to  you.' — ^*The  same  to  you,  Mrs.  Malwadding.' — ^'I 
dramed  a  drame,  your  honour.' — '  What  was  your  dream  about,  Mrs. 
Malwadding  ? ' — ^  Och  I  I  dramed  that  your  honour's  honour  would  giwe 
me  a  pound  of  lay,  and  your  ladyship's  ladyship  a  shiner.' — ^"Well,  but 
dreams  always  are  verified  by  their  contraries.' — '  Och,  then,  it  is  your 
honour's  honour  that's  to  give  me  the  shiner,  and  your  ladyship's  lady- 
ship that's  to  give  me  the  taf.* — Need  I  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Malwadding's 
wit  ensured  her  both  the  tea  and  the  money  ?  " — p.  117- 

These  volumes  abound  with  marvellous  stories  of  escapes  by 
^  flood  and  field.'  After  a  well-told  and  affecting  account  of.  the 
deaths  of  two  officers  in  India,  the  author  gives  the  foUowing  re- 
markable iUustrations  of  coincidences  in  human  history : — 

"  It  is  only  those  who  do  not  keep  a  register  of  their  lives,  who  dis- 
believe, that  the  principal  occurrences  which  influence  their  happiness  or 
misery  take  place  at  the  recurrence  of  stated  and  particular  periods. 
Napoleon  was  a  striking  instance  of  this  startling  truth.  All  his  great 
battles  were  fought  on  the  same  day,  and,  extraordinary  indeed  must 
have  been  his  power,  and  little  less  than  that  of  a  God  here,  if  he  coidd, 
at  his  own  arbitrium,  so  regulate  his  times  as  to  overturn  empires, 
and  make  himself  master  of  half  the  civilized  world,  by  throwing  the 
same  number  on  a  die.  It  was  from  similar  remarks  that  the  ancients 
drew  horoscopes,  and  had  tables  for  calculating  lucky  and  unlucky  days 
— those  *cret&aut  carbone  notandse.'  Hence  the  descendants  of  the 
ancient  Persians,  the  Parsees,  consult  their  chronological  records  before 
they  embark  in  any  undertaking;  and  it  is  from  a  recollection  that  on 
a  Friday  the  seat  of  their  empire  was  wasted  with  fire  and  sword  by 
the  followers  of  the  Prophet,  that  those  great  merchants  never  allow 
any  of  their  ships  to  s^il  from  Bombay  on  that  day.  Not  that  that  pre- 
judice (if  you  choose  to  call  it  one)  is  confined  to  their  nation,  for  it^is 
common  to  many  other  people,  ourselves  among  the  number ;  and  a 
Welsh  bard  has  this  passage,  quoted  to  me  by  Humphrey : — 

**  On  Friday  I  saw  great  anxiety,  Urien  raged." 

**  It  was  from  some  such  similar  remembrance  that  Lord  Byron  would 
never  commence  any  work,  nor  even  be  introduced  to  one  whose  acquain- 
tance he  wished  to  cultivate,  on  that  day  in  the  week.  And,  speaking  of 
him,  he  is  almost  as  remarkable  a  corroboration  as  Buonaparte  of  my 
position,  seeing  that  the  three  great  and  remarkable  events  on  which  his 
destiny  hinged,  the  fatal  wedding  of  Miss  Chaworth,  his  own  unfortu- 
nate marriage,  and  his  still  more  lamented  death,  took  place  when  he 
was  sixteen,  twenty-six,  and  thirty-six,  or  at  intervening  periods  of  ten 
years,  called  by  the  Romans  two  lustres,  a  term  probably  not  derived 


The  Angler  in  Wales.  151 

fa>]ii  such  periods  being  phyBical  cHmacteiics,  but  from  an  observation 
that  they,  as  from  a  mirror,  reflected  th^  lights  of  other  times;  or,  as 
(though  with  a  different  application)  has  been  beautifully  said,  cast  the 
abfuiows  of  former  years  before  them.  You  have  ahio  told  me  that  he  said 
he  should  most  likely  die  in  Greece,  yet  with  some  influence  foreign  to, 
and  perfectly  independent  of  his  own  will,  he  was  urged  by  fate  to  that 
very  countiy  to  confirm  his  own  prediction,  his  own  predestination,  and, 
what  is  still  more  singular,  to  the  very  spot  where  in  the  same  month, 
if  not  on  the  same  day,  he  had  been  attacked  by  a  similar  fever,  and 
barely  escaped  falling  a  victim  to  its  malignity." — pp.  57»  69.  vol.ii.   ' 

The  description  of  an  otter  hunt  is  to  our  likings  and  such  as  is 
familiar  to  us ;  but  we  have  only  space  for  the  issue. 

*' The  contest  promised  to  be  a  severe  one.  Vixen  was,  as  I  said,  in 
advance,  and  on  her  the  brunt  of  the  onslaught,  the  odds  much  against 
her,  fell,  for  she  was  forced  to  swim  in  order  to  get  at  the  foe.  She  was . 
soon  in  upon  him,  and  pinned  him  by  the  ikeck,  a  favourite  point  of  at- 
tack of  her's,  as  I  afterwards  heard  from  her  master;  but  the  powerful 
animal  soon  shook  her  off,  and  seized  her  in  turn  in  his  terrific  jaws. 

^  No  animal  is  so  hard-biting  as  an  otter.  Their  mouths  are  armed  with 
teeth  as  sharp  as  needles,  and  wherever  they  make  good  their  hold,  the 
breadth  of  their  nostrils  enables  them  to  retain  it  like  bull-dogs.  None 
but  a  very  varmint  dog,  to  borrow  a  phrase  of  Charter's  Amazon,  when . 
severely  punished,  will  face  one  of  these  water-weazels  a  second  time. 
Not  so  Vixen,  who,  extricating  himself  from  his  gripe,  returned  with 
fresh  courage  to  the  conflict. 

**  Owing  to  the  projection  of  the  bank,  and  the  thick  bush  overhang- 
ing the  water,  Rr-- —  could  not  come  to  the  assistance  of  his  little  fa- 
vorite, and  stood,  not  without  some  misgivings  as  to  the  result,  within  a 
few  paces  of  the  combatants.  The  battle  was  a  terrific  one,  and  long 
doubtful;  but  atjlength  the  dourghhie  seized  Vixen  by  the  throat,  and 
made  his  fangs  meet  in  her  jugular  vein.  The  water  was  dyed  with 
blood.  The  bitch  gave  a  short  low  howl  of  agony,  and  in  a  few  moments 
we  saw  her  extended  as  if  dying,  on  her  back,  and  borne  down  with  the 
current. 

**Rf-; — ,  forgetting  the  otter  in  his  anxiety  for  his  little  pet,  rushed  into 
the  water  up  to  his  middle,  and  succeeded  in  reaching  and  bearing  her 
out,  ^hen  be  laid  her  on  the  grass  and  endeavoured  to  stanch  the  blood 
with  his  handkerchief. 

''  In  the  mean  while  the  dourghie  dashed  from  behind  the  bank  where 
he  had  effected  so  much  mischief,  evidently  the  worse  for  the  affray,  and, 
cloeely  followed  by  Viper,  recrossed  the  stream,  and  succeeded,  though 
with  difficulty,  in  gaining  a  stronger  position  than  ever  among  the 

roots  of  somie  hawthorns,  whence  R did  not  attempt  to  dislodge 

him,  for  he  was  so  much  affected  at  the  piteous  state  of  Vixen,  that, 
taking  her  up  in  his  arms,  he  called  off  Viper,  and  we  made  the  best  of 
our  way  back  to  Tregaron. 

**  The  sufferings  of  the  little  creature  were  great,  but  she  was  too  game 
to  show  them  by  whining,  or  any  outward  expression  of  pain.  The 
blood  kept  fast  oozing  from  her  neck  though  tightly  bandaged. 

"On  our  arrival  at  the  inn,  having  washed  it  with  brandy,  we  made  a 
bed  for  the  patient  in  a  comer  of  the  room,  and  she  soon  fell  into  a  deep 
sleep. 


152  The  Angler  in  Whiles. 

"The  affection  of  the  two  terriers  for  each  other  was  such  as  few. to- 
man heings  show,  and  might  have  heen  a  lesson  for  humanity.  Vi|»r 
laid  down  by  Vixen,  and  by  low  whines  told  the  excess  of  his  grief.  aAd 
endeavoured  to  lick  the  mortal  wound.  He  could  not  be  induced  to  take 
any  food,  or  to  quit  her  side.^^-^pp.  IGS-'— 164.  vol.  il, 

-  We  are  never  weary  of  hearing  of  Byron,  and  the  second  of  these 
volumes  contains  many  notices  of  him,  which  must  be  equally  ac- 
ceptable to  our  readers. 

'•  The  Byron  of  Genera,  and  the  Byron  of  England  and  Italy,  were 
widely  different  persons.  Certain  family  affairs,  and  the  dilapidated 
state  of  his  finances,  caused  by  a  long  course  of  extravagance,  had  pro- 
duced in  him  a  despondency  sometimes  bordering  on  madness.  But  he 
was  suffering  from  wounded  pride  rather  than  hurt  affections;  from  a 
morbid  sensitiveness  rather  than  a  healthful  sensibility.  He  had  more 
of  the  misanthrophy  of  the^  snarling  Apemanthus,  than  the  injured 
Timon — ^the  difference  between  a  hatred  of  his  species  and  their  vices. 
In  fact  he  possessed  nothing  of  that  within— 

"Qttod  se  sibi  reddit  amicuniy 
Quod  pnr^  tranqoillat.*' 

'  *'  Never  were  there  such  different  accounts  as  are  given  of  his  person. 
I  have  heard  from  some,  that,  as  to  his  feet,  one  could  hardly  be  distin- 
g'nishcd  from  the  other  in  make  or  shape. 

^•Much  was  done  by  Sheldrake  towards  straightening  them.  An 
Aberdeen  schoolfellow  of  his  told  me,  that  when  he  was  young  they 
were  both  turned  inwards.  A  Harrow  woman  said,  that  one  leg  was 
shorter  than  the  other,  and  that  he  used  to  wear  a  patten  on  it  at  school. 
There  seems  to  be  as  great  uncertainty  on  this  subject  as  on  his  charac- 
ter, which  his  biographers  have  found  irreconcileablc ;  in  fact,  he  was  a 
riddle,  as  difficult  to  solve  as  the  Spliynx's." 

"He  had  the  character,  when  he  left  England,  of  being  remarkably 
handsome;  his  complexion  ruddy;  his  hair  dark  brown,  and  glossy,  and 
full  of  curls  as  the  Antinous's,  or  Hyperion's ;  his  forehead  expansive ; 
his  eyes  possessing  wonderful  fire  and  expression. 

"If  so,  he  must  have  much  altered,  marvellously.  The  greatest 
change,  however,  took  place  in  him  in  a  few  months  at  Venice,  where 
I  saw  him  in  1618.  I  should  hardly  have  known  him.  The  life  he  led 
there  surpassed  Rochester's  or  Faublas's,  and  fitted  him  well  for  the 
Bolgi  of  the '  Inferno,'  into  which  Dante  plunges  those  immerged  in  such 
degrading  pursuits  as  he  then  indulged  in.  As  Chcsterfiekl  said  of 
Bolingbroke,  his  youth  was  there  distracted  by  the  tumult  and  storm  of 
pleasures  in  which  he  most  licentiously  triumphed,  disdaining  all  deco- 
rum. His  fine  imagination  often  heated  and  exhausted  his  body  in  cele- 
brating and  deifying  the  prostitute  of  the  night,  and  his  convivial  joys 
were  pushed  to  ajl  the  extravagance  of  frantic  Bacchanals.  His  passions 
impaired  both  his  understanding  and  his  character." — pp.  1 73 — 175. 
vol.  ii. 

There  is  nothing  very  new  in  this,  however ;  neither  in  the  para- 
graphs we  next  extract.     Byron  is  now  at  Pisa,  in  the  year  1820. 

"  He  had  then  grown  grossly  corpulent, '  vulgaiiy  fat.'  His  palace  on 
the  JLfung'  Amo  was  a  specimen  of  the  Italian  palazzi,  large,  gloomy, 
and  uncomfortable.     Below  was  a  stone  hall  that  struck  with  the  chill  of 


The'Angier  in  Wales.  153 

a  crypt  or  estacomb,  which  its  archeii  roof  reaembled.  A  perpendicular 
flight  of  8ftefp8  led  to  the  primo  piano  or  piano  nohile,  guarded  by  lion. 
A  narrow  corridor,  which  was  his  den,  conducted  to  another  dark  anti- 
caTeni,  to  the  end  of  'which  the  eye  could  hardly  reach.  I  found  him 
in  has  sanctum.  The  walls  of  it  were  stained,  and  against  them  hung  a 
ptctore  of  Ugolino,  in  the  'Torre  dellafiame,'  the  woric  of  one  of  the 
Guicdoli's  sisters,  and  a  miniature  of  Ada.  The  apartment  had  neither 
carpet  nor  mat,  and  an  arm  and  a  few  other  chairs  formed,  with  a  table, 
the  ensembie  of  the  fiimitute ;  unless  some  boxes  and  saddle  -bags  in  one 
comer  might  bear  such  a  denomination.  I  found  him  a  laughing  philo- 
pher-T-e  Don  Juan. 

.  ^  His  talk  at  that  time  was  a  dilution  of  his  letters,  being  full  of  per- 
siflage^  and  abounding  in  humour  that  was  not  wit.  He  always  remcm- 
bered  me  of  Voltaire,  to  whom  he  would  have  thought  it  the  greatest 
of  compliments  to  he  compared,  and  if  there  was  one  writer  more  than 
another  whom  Byron  admired,  perhaps  envied,  (for  he  was  even  jealous 
of  Shakspeare),  it  was  the  author  of  Candide.  Like  Voltaire,  he  never 
argued,  looking  upon  converse  as  a  relaxation,  not  a  toil  of  mind ;  or  he 
might  thank  ibaX  reason  sterilized  the  &ncy,  and  rendered  less  vivid  the 
imaginative  faculties.  Both  possessed  the  same  power  of  changing  at 
will  the  subject  from  the  grave  to  the  gay ;  the  same  mastery  over  the 
sublime,  the  pathetic,  and  the  comic — ^no  I  in  one  particular  he  diifered 
firom  Voltaire,  he  never  scoffed  at  religion.  His  organ  of  veneration  was 
strongly  developed,  and  had  he  returned  to  England,  he  would,  I  have 
little  doubt,  have  died  as  Rochester  died,  and  as  Tommy  Little  lives — ^in 
the  odour  of  sanctity.  He  was  a  disciple  of  Rochefoucaidt  and  La 
Bmyere,  and  had^no  fieuth  in  virtue  for  its  own  sake ;  in  love,  undi vested 
of  the  animal  passion;  or  of  friendship,  if  disinterestedness  and  self- 
sacrifice  form  its  essentials.  Friendship,  he  used  to  say,  according  to  an 
Bnglishman's  definition,  means  eating  and  drinking  together;  and  he 
frequently  quoted  (no  one  more  echoed  himself}  Walpole's  hon  vivant^ 
who,  having  lost  his  friend,  said,  *  I  will  go  to  the  club  and  find  another.'  ** 
—pp.  178— 180,  vol.  ii. 

Of  Byron  in  Greece : — 

*'  Missolunghi  is  just  as  wretched  a  collection  of  houses  and  huts  as  can 
be  well  imagined.  It  stands  in  the  recess  of  a  large  ^and  shallow  bay, 
npcm  a  morass  which  extends  from  the  bay  to  the  foot  of  the  hills,  which 
rise  two  or  three  miles  inland.  The  season  was  very  rainy  and  the  housee 
were  insulated  among  mire  and  water,  the  communication  being  kept  up  by 
stepping-stones  and  attempts  at  trottoirs,  which  resembled  low  walls,  in  pass- 
ing over  which,  the  least  loss  of  equilibrium  would  plunge  the  unibrtnnftte 
peripatetic  in  deep  mud.  A  visit  to  Lord  Byron  was  our  first  step  in 
landing ;  his  abode  was  a  tolerable  house  close  to  the  part  of  the  beach 
most  convenient  for  landing  or  going  afloat.  It  had,  for  the  place,  great 
pretension,  and  was  approached  by  a  gateway  opening  into  a  little  miry 
court-yard,  surrounded  by  a  wall,  with  some  small  offices  on  one  side.  The 
principal  and  only  tolerable-  room  was  approached  by  an  outward  fitair. 
Three  sides  were  furnished  with  sofas  in  the  Turkish  taste.  A  deal  shelf, 
apparently  stuck  against  the  waD,  was  loaded  with  books ;  the  floor  was 
encumbered  with  packing  cases,  some  nailed  down,  some  o|)ened ;  the 
latter  filled  with  books,  as,  I  took  for  granted,  were  the  former,  llound  the 


1 54  The  Angler  in  Wales. 

"^alls  were  appended  to  numerous  nails  and  pegs,  fowling-pieoes  and 
pistols  of  various  descriptions  and  nations ;  sabres  and  yataghans.  The 
corridor  or  antichamber,  or  whatever  else  it  might  be  termed,  swarmed, 
with  Mainotes  and  others,  armed  to  the  teeth.  We  were  ushered  in  by 
Tita,  his  Lordship's  chasseau,  who  reminded  me  of  the  French  Sapems, 
as  he  wore  a  bushy  beard,  with  his  livq^,  which  was  set  off  by  two  silver 
epaulettes.  He  was  an  immense  fellow,  upwards  of  six  feet  in  height, 
and  although  well-prc^ortioned  for  such  a  herculean  figure,  his  frame  was 
too  large  and  heavy  for  his  stature  to  come  within  the  description  of 
elegant  His  page  was  a  young  Greek,  dressed  as  an  Albanian  or  Mainote, 
with  very  handsomely  chased  arms  in  his  girdle,  and  his  nuutre'cT hotel,  or 
factotum,  an  honest  looking,  though  not  remarkably  elastic  Northumbrian, 
named  Fletcher,  who  seemed,  and  doubtless  with  reason,  a  great  favourite 
with  his  master. 

"On  sitting  down  to  dinner,  which,  to  deliver  us  from  plague  and  pesti- 
lence, was  set  on  a  deal  table,  without  the  intervention  of  a  cloth,  he 
laughingly  apologised  for  his  table,  which  from  the  circumstances  wherein 
he  was  then  placed,  was  not,  as  he  said,  trcp  bien  montie ;  but  he  felt 
the  less  annoyed  when  he  reflected  that  persons  of  our  profession  under- 
stood those  things,  and  were  of  course  prepared  for  all  sorts  of  privatacma. 
He  then  bustled  about,  actively  assisted  by  Fletcher,  who  was  but  poorly, 
aided  by  the  Ghreek  menials  in  placing  the  dishes  to  the  best  advantage, 
drawing  corks,  and  all  the  el  ccetera  of  the  table.  To  dispose  the  table 
was  rendered  a  service  of  some  difficulty  by  its  compendiousness.  On 
opening  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  inspecting  its  contents,  his  lordship  ques- 
tioned Fletcher  as  to  its  name  and  lineage.  '  I  really  don't  know,  my 
lord,'  was  the  reply.  'Then  away  with  it,*  he  rejoined;  *I  hate  anony* 
mous  wine.' 

*'  On  looking  over  the  arms  about  the  room,  his  Lordship  asked  the 
principal  of  the  party  if  he  would  like  to  try  a  shot  with  pistols  ?  On  his 
answering  affirmatively,  they  walked  up  to  the  landing-place  of  the  out- 
side stairs,  from  which  they  fired  at  Maraschino  botUes,  placed  on  a 
pilaster  in  the  court,  upwards  of  twelve  paces  off.  They  had  an  equal 
number  of  shots.  Byron  struck  each  time.  His  antagonist  missed  once, 
although  a  very  good  shot.  But  one  of  Lord  j Byron's  was  excellent : — the 
upper  rim  of  a  bottle  which  his  competitor  broke,  fell  on  the  top  of  the 
pilaster,  and  remained  there,  reduced  to  a  size  not  much  larger  than  a 
finger-ring.  Instead  of  having  another  bottle  placed,  he  took  aim  at  this 
fragment,  and  reduced  it  to  dust.  His  precision  was  the  more  surprising, 
because  his  hand  shook  as  if  under  the  influence  of  an  ague  fit,  and  the 
time  he  took  to  take  aim  would  have  made  any  other  man's  hands  un- 
steady. On  trying  at  the  same  marks,  placed  out  of  everything  like 
pistol-range,  neither  succeeded.  As  each  fired,  a  large  Labrador  (Bull J 
dog,  named  Lion,  ran  and  picked  up  the  bottle,  which  he  laid  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stair.  I  remarked  to  Lord  Byron,  as  we  were  laughing  at 
his  officiousness,*Thatis  an  honest  Tyke  of  yours.' — '  Oh !  oh!'  he  replied, 
*  I  find  you  are  half  a  countryman  of  mine.' — '  I  answered  I  was  a  whole 
Scotsman.' — 'Then,  we  are  half  countrymen,' said  he ;  'my  mother  was 
Scotch.' "—pp.  198— 207,  vol.ii. 

We  close  our  extracts  from  this  rambling  work  of  '  Days  and 
Nights  of  Sportsmen '  in  Wales,  with  the  author's  fiarewell  to  that 
country. 


The  Life  of  Mrs,  Hamnah  Mare.  16fir 

"Those  who  trttvel  in  order  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  who 
merely  wish  to  find  a  comfortable  shelter  for  the  night,  and  a  sufficiency 
of  wholeaome  food,  may  be  well  accommodated  at  almost  every  inn  in 
Wales,  may  proceed  fearlessly  night  or  day,  from  mountain  to  mountain, 
from  lake  to  lake,  from  river  to  river,  as  fancy  or  inclination  directs — 
may  even,  if  pennyless,  enter  into  any  cottage,  and  share  the  peasant's 
humble  meal,  and  find  himself,  '  though  a  stranger,'  in  the  words  of  a 
Welsh  poet, 'kindly greeted.'"* 

"Let  the  valetudinarian,  the  malatie  imaginaire,  «ad  the  epicure,  and 
those  who  make  their  happiness  to  consist  in  indolence,  and  what  they  call 
eamforts,  remain  in  their  easy  chairs  at  their  clubs ;  to  each  of  theni  I 
would  say  in  the  words  of  Horace — 'tu  nidum  servos ,*  They  are  un-. 
worthy  to  breathe  the  pure  mountsdn  air,  or  to  revel  in  the  varied  delights 
that  are  to  be  found  in  the  wild  and  wonderful  of  nature — ^to  trace  the 
Hvy  from  its  source,  or  to  see  the  sun  lise  or  set  over  Cader  Idris." — 
pp.  270,271,  vol.  ii. 

And  so  say  we.  But  to  conclude ;  these  two  volumes  abound 
with  pleasant  narratives,  and  considerable  information  regarding, 
the  '  GeaUe  Art/  which  indeed  the  author  should  be  well  qualified 
to  give,  from  his  experience'^  on  so  many  difierent  rivers,  in  various 
regions  of  the  earth.  But  for  ourselves,  we  have  never  found  much 
benefit  from  books  on  this  subject,  and  we  presume  Mr.  Medwin, 
has  rather  here  adopted  the  character  of  an  Angler,  whereon  to 
hang  every  thing  else  he  wished  to  tell,  than  with  the  view  or 
hope  of  becoming  a  guide  in  the  art. 

Art.  II. — Life  and  Correspondence  of  Mrs.  Hannah  More.     4  Voh. 

London :  .  Seeley  and  Bumside.     1834. 

On  two  different  grounds  this  work  deserves  particular  notice; 
first,  on  account  of  its  own  intrinsic  merits,  and  next,  as  presenting 
that  which  belongs  to  an  age  lately  gone  by.  As  to  the  first  point, 
we  are  of  opinion  that  Hannah  was  fiilly  rewarded  during  her  life- 
time; that  she  was  in  this  sense  lucky  to  an  extraordinary  degree; 
at  the  same  time,  it  is  our  desire  that  her  writings  should  take  a 
permanent  stand  amogst  our  modem  Uterature,  chiefly  by  reason 
of  their  modest  purity,  and  exalted  religious  character.  There  is 
another  strong  claim  which  they  possess  to  popular  fieivour, — ^we 
mean  the  abundance  of  anecdotes  presented  in  them,  connected 
with  the  greatest  names  of  a  bye-gone  age.  Mrs.  More's  materials 
were  thus  as  attractive  and  excellent  as  her  powers  in  handling 
them  could  be.  The  very  hasty  manner  in  which  we  have  glanced 
at  the  first  volume,  does  not  authorize  us  to  speak  with  much  parti- 
cularity of  its  contents  in  a  critical  point  of  view.  One  thing  is 
manifest,  that  it  is  full  of  highly  interesting  matter :  and,  we 
believe  the  work  will  have  a  good  sale. 

But  before  entering  upon  the  direct  bistorv  of  Mrs.  More,  which 
has  fallen  into  the  hanos  of  a  highly  gifted  biographer,  we  must 


*  Onid  cyvarwydd  cyvarch. 


156  Tke  Life  of  Mrs.  Hannah  More, 

dwell  far  a  Kttle  on  the  marveDous  transitions  that  have  taken  place 

in  literature,  as  well  as  in  society,  since  she  began  to  write  and  to 
obtain  fame.  And  here  we  cannot  do  better  than  use  the  words  of 
him  who  presents  us  with  her  life.  "It  is/'  says  he,  "a  matter  of 
no  light  moment  to  bring  the  memory  of  Hannah  More  fairly 
before  the  world.  Her  history  and  her  character,  in  great  part, 
belong  to  and  represent  an  age,  the  ibrm  and  pressure  of  which 
has'<^  late  been  rapidly  dis^peoring,  and  to  give  place  to  a  new 
order  of  things  and  a  very  different  system  of  manners, — ^whether 
better  or  worse,  may  be  variously  affirmed :  in  some  poiQtB  jso- 
fessedly  better,  in  others  not  so  good ;  but  certainly  very  differently 
constituted,  and  disclosing  very  different  tendencies.  In  the  twi- 
light of  the  old,  and  in  the  dawn  of  the  new  era,  Mrs.  More  ac- 
complished her  date  here, — succeeded  it  may  be  by  ladies  more 
talking  and  talked  about,  but  probably  by  none  so  capable  of 
making  the  voice  of  instruction  echo  from  the  cottage  to  the  saloon, 
— ^from  the  house  of  clay  to  the  hall  of  cedar.  To  embody  the 
likeness  and  perpetuate  the  remembrance  of  such  a  person  is  to 
preserve  the  best  specimen  of  the  past,  to  be  contrasted  with  the 
present  generation,  and  in  some  sort  to  repress  the  rising  fancies, 
fopperies,  and  excesses,  which  are  apt  to  accompany  the  develope- 
ment  of  new  opinions,  and  to  propel  the  mind  in  a  career  of  self- 
adulation  to  a  dangerous  distance  from  old  paths  and  the  lights  of 
experience.  There  was  a  happy  balance  in  the  qualities  of  this 
gifted  lady,  which  kept  her  from  all  extremes.  With  a  due  esti- 
mate of  the  value  of  modern  advancement,  she  retained  the  savour 
of  our  island  character,  as  it  was  once  distinguished  by  its  probity 
and  plainness  among  the  communities  of  Christendom.  What  wo- 
man was^  and  what  woman  is,  in  her  best  state,  in  the  past  and 
present  periods  of  our  domestic  history,  were  displayed  in  her  de- 
portment I  and  what  woman  should  be  under  all  estates,  was  illus- 
trated in  those  principles,  which  raised  her  character  above  the 
reach  of  shifting  opinions,  and  made  it  a  patteni  for  all  times  and 
all  countries." 

Her  life  is  to  be  found  nearly  complete,  in  a  series  of  letters, 
partly  written  to,  and  partly  written  by  some  of  the  greatest  per- 
sons of  George  the  Third's  reign.  Her  father's  name  was  Jacob, 
of  a  respectable  Norfolk  family,  and  she  was  the  youngest  but  one 
of  five  daughters.  She  was  born,  however,  in  Gloucestershire, 
whither  he  had  removed.  She  got  some  instruction  from  him  in 
the  Latin  tongue  and  mathematics,  but  seems  chiefly  to  have  been 
indebted  to  her  elder  sisters  who  had  been  educated  for  school- 
mistresses, and  who  opened  a  boarding-school  at  Bristol.  The  elder 
Sheridan  was  lecturing  in  that  town  when  she  was  in  her  sixteenth 
year,  with  whom  she  became  acquainted  through  a  copy  of  verses 
she  addressed  to  him;  for  her  talent  was  precocious.  Her  father, 
indeed,  is  said  to  have  been  frightened  at  his  success  in  his  early 
attempts  to  instruct  her.     Among  her  earliest  writings  were  "  Sup- 


The  Lift  of  Mrs,  Hannah  More,  157 

potttitiouB  letters  to  depraved  characterayto  reclaim  them  from  their 
errors,  and  letters  in  return  expressive  of  contrition  and  amende 
meIlt^— - 

"  In  her  days  of  infancy,  when  she  could  possess  herself  of  a  scrap  of 
paper,  her  delight  was  to  scribble  upon  it  some  essay  or  poem,  with  some 
well-directed  rooral,  whicb  was  afterwards  secreted  in  a  dark  corner,  where 
the  servant  kept  her  brushes  and  dusters.  Her  little  sister,  with  whom  she 
slept,  was  usually  the  repository  of  her  nightly  effusions ;  who,  in  her  ze^l 
lest  these  compositions  should  be  lost,  would  sometimes  steal  down  to  pro- 
cure a  light,  and  commit  them  to  the  first  scrap  of  paper  whicb  she  could 
find..  Among  the  characterislics  sports  of  Hannah's  childhood,  which  their 
mother  was  fond  of  recording,  we  are  told  that  she  was  wont  to  make  a 
carriage  of  a  chair,  and  tiien  to  call  her  sistexB  to  ride  with  her  to  London 
to  see  bishops  and  booksellers ;  an  intercourse  which  we  shall  hereaf  t^ 
show  to  have  been  realbed.  The  greatest  wish  which  her  imagination 
could  ^me,  when  her  scraps  of  paper  were  exhausted,  was,  that  one  day 
she  might  be  rich  enough  to  have  a  whole  quire  to  herself.  And  when,  by 
her  mother's  indulgence,  the  prize  was  obtained,  it  was  soon  filled  with 
supposititious  letters  to  depraved  characters  to  reclaim  them  from  their 
errors,  and  letters  in  return  expressive  of  contrition  and  resolutions  of 
amendment." — pp.  13, 14,  vol.  i. 

In  her  seventeenth  year^  1762,  she  wrote  the  pastoral  drama, 
called  'The  search  after  Happiness/  which  led  to  her  introduction 
to  the  best  society  in  London,  both  in  a  literary  point  of  view  and 
as  regarded  eminence  of  station.  The  constant  and  strong  interest 
which  Garrick  and  his  wife  took  in  her  success  was  the  great  cause 
of  her  speedy  advancement  in  popular  and  high  &vour ;  and  throoght 
this  intimacy  she  was  enabled  to  give  a  faithful  picture  of  the  cele- 
brated actor^s  domestic  life,  which  is  truly  gratifying.  Burke  and 
Dr.  Johnson  came  of  course  to  be  added  to  the  list  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, and  to  have  become  besides,  her  hearty  friends.  Her 
sister  gives  a  spirited  account  of  Hannah's  first  interview  with  the 
great  dictionary  man : — 

"We  have  paid  another  visit  to  Mrs.  Reynolds.  She  had  sent  to  engage 
Dr.  Percy  (Percy's  collection — now  you  know  him),  quite  a  sprightly  mo-' 
dem,  instead  of  a  rusty  antique,  as  I  expected.  He  was  no  sooner  gone 
than  the  most  amiable  and  obliging  of  women  (Miss  Reynolds)  ordered 
the  coach  to  take  us  to  Dr.  Johnson's  very  oxrni  house;  yes,  Abyssinia's 
Johnson!  Dictionary  Johnson !  Rambler's,  Idler's  and  Irene's  Johnson  I 
Can  you  picture  to  yourselves  the  palpitation  of  our  hearts  as  we  ap- 
proached his  mansion  ?  The  conversation  turned  upon  a  new  worit  of  his, 
just  going  to  the  press,  (the  Tour  of  the  Hebrides,)  and  his  old  friend 
Richardson.  Mrs.  Williams  the  blind  poet,  who  lives  with  him,  was  in- 
troduced to  us.  She  is  engaging  in  her  manners;  her  conversation  lively 
and  entertaining.  Miss  Reynolds  told  the  Doctor  of  all  our  rapturons 
exclamations  on  the  road.  He  shook  his  scientific  head  at  Hannah,  and 
said.  •  She  was  a  sUly  thing.*  When  our  visit  was  ended,  he  called  for  his 
hat  (as  it  rained),  to  attend  us  down  a  very  long  entry  to  our  coach,  and 
not  Rasselas  could  have  acquitted  himself  more  en  cavalier.    We  are  en- 


168  T tie  Life  of  Mrs,  Hannah  More, 

^^aged  with  him  at  Sir  Joshua's,  Wednesday  evening.    What  do  yon  thin  k 

of  UB? 

"I  forgot  to  mention,  that  not  finding  Johnson  in  his  little  parlour  when 
we  came  in,  Hannah  seated  herself  in  his  great  chair,  hoping  to  catch  a 
Kttle  ray  of  his  genius;  when  he  heard  it  he  laughed  heartily,  and  told 
ber  it  was  a  chair  on  which  he  never  sat.  He  said  it  reminded  him  of 
Boswell  and  himself,  when  they  stopt  a  night  at  the  spot  (as  they  imagined) 
where  the  Weird  Sisters  appeared  to  Macbeth ;  the  idea  so  u  orked  upon 
their  enthusiasm  that  it  quite  deprived  them  of  rest ;  however,  they 
learned  the  next  morning,  to  their  mortification,  that  they  had  been  de- 
ceived, and  were  quite  in  another  part  of  the  country." — pp.  49, 50,  vol  i. 

One  never  tires  with  hearing  of  this  wonderful  literary  giant. 
Her  ^Sir  Eldred  of  the  Bower/  appeared  in  1776^  and  was  com- 
plimented extravagantly  soon  afterwards.  Another  amusing  letter 
was  written  by  her  sister^  which  we  must  quote : — 

"  If  a  wedding  should  take  place  before  our  return,  don't  be  surprised' 
— between  the  mother  of  Sir  Eldred  and  the  father  of  my  much-loved 
Irene ;  nay,  Mrs.  Montagu  says  if  tender  words  are  the  precursors  of 
connubial  engagements,  we  may  expect  great  things ;  for  it  is  nothing  but 
'  child,' '  little  fool,'  '  love,'  and  '  dearest.*     After  much  critical  discourse, 
he  turns  round  to  me,  and,  with  one  of  his  most  amiable  looks,  which 
must  be  seen  to  form  the  least  idea  of  it,  he  says,  '  I  have  heard  that  you 
are  engaged  in  the  useful  and  honourable  employment  of  teaching  young 
ladies.'     Upon  which,  with  all  the  same  ease,  familiarity,  and  confidence 
we  should  have  done  had  only  our  own  dear  Dr.  Stonehouse  been  present, 
we  entered  upon  the  history  of  our  birth,  parentage,  and  education ;  shew- 
ing how  we  were  bom  with  more  desires  than  guineas ;  and  how,  as  years 
increased  our  appetites,  the  cupboard  at  home  began  to  grow  too  smdl  to 
gratify  them ;  and  how,  with  a  bottle  of  water,  a  bed,  and  a  blanket,  we 
set  out  to  seek  our  fortunes ;  and  how  we  found  a  great  house  with  no- 
thing in  it;  and  how  it  was  like  to  remain  so,  till, looking  into  our  know- 
ledge-boxes, we  happened  to  find  a  little  laming,  a  good  thing  when  land 
is  gone,  or  rather  none  :  and  so  at  last,  by  giving  a  little  of  this  little  lam- 
ing  to  those  who  had  less,  we  got  a  good  store  of  g<^d  in  return ;  but  how, 
alas !  we  wanted  the  wit  to  keep  it. — '  I  love  you  both,'  cried  the  inaino- 
rate—*  I  love  you  all  five — I  never  was  at  Bristol — I  will  come  on  puipose 
to  see  you.    What !  five  women  live  happily  together ! — I  will  come  and 
see  you — I  have  spent  a  happy  evening — I  am  glad  I  came — God  for  ever 
bless  you !  you  live  to  shame  duchesses.'   He  took  his  leave  with  so  much 
"Warmth  and  tenderness  that  we  were  quite  affected  at  his  manner.     If 
Hannah's  head  stands  proof  against  all  the  adulation  and  kindness  of  the 
great  folks  here,  why,  Uien,  I  will  venture  to  say  nothing  of  this  kind  will 
hurt  her  hereafter.    A  literary  anecdote  : — Mrs.  Medalle  (Sterne's  daugh- 
ter) sent  to  all  the  correspondents  of  her  deceased  father,  begging  the  let- 
ters which  he  had  written  to  them ;  among  other  wits,  she  sent  to  Wilkes 
with  the  same  request.     He  sent  for  answer,  that  as  there  happened  to  be 
notiiing  extraordinary  in  those  he  had  received,  he  had  burnt  or  lost  them. 
On  which,  the  faithful  editor  of  her  father's  works  sent  back  to  say,  that  if 
Mr.  Wilkes  would  be  so  good  as  to  write  a  few  letters  in  imitation  of  her 
father's  style,  it  would  do  just  as  well,  and  she  would  insert  them." — 
pp.  66,  67,  vol.  i, 


The  Life  of  Mrs.  Harmah  Mere,  169 

When  gpeakmg  of '  Sir  Eldred/  it  is  natural  that  we  shoidd  look 
twice  upon  any  reference  at  so  early  a  date  made  to  our  journal, 
the  oldest  4ma  n^ost  lasting  of  the  family  it  belongs  to.  The 
ancient  and  honourable  character  of  our  House  cannot  be  ques- 
tioned : — 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  most  ridiculouB  circumstance  in  the  worid.  After 
dinner,  Garrick  took  up  the  Monthly  Review  (civil  gentlemen,  by  the  bye, 
these  Monthly  Reviewers),  and  read  'Sir  Eldred'  with  all  his  pathos  and 
an  his  graces.  I  think  I  never  was  so  ashamed  in  my  life;  but  he  read  it 
ao  superlatively,  that  I  cried  like  a  child.  Only  think  what  a  scandalous 
thing  to  cry  at  the  reading  of  one's  own  poetry!  I  could  have  beaten  my- 
self; for  it  looked  as  if  I  thought  it  very  moving,  which  I  can  truly  say, 
IB  far  from  being  the  case.  But  the  beauty  of  the  jest  lies  in  this :  Mrs. 
Garrick  twinkled  as  well  as  I,  and  made  as  many  apologies  for  crying  at 
her  husband's  reading  as  I  did  for  crying  at  my  own  verses.  She  got 
out  of  the  scrape  by  pretending  she  was  touched  at  the  story,  and  /,  by 
saying  the  same  thing  of  the  reading." — p.  70.  voL  i. 

There  .are  two  features  in  Mrs.  More's  character^  that  frequently 
and  pretty  early  displayed  themselves ;  different  indeed  but  not  in- 
compatible. The  one  is  a  composed  and  satisfactory  conception  of 
her  own  literary  merits ;  the  other^  that  tone  of  seriousness^  which 
amidst  the  great  gaiety  of  her  younger  years^  was  found  to  have 
been  famiUar  to  her.  Think  of  her  patronizing  Sheridan's  ^  Rivals/ 
in  these  authoritative  words : — 

"We  have  been  to  see  the  new  comedy  of  young  Sheridan, '  The 
Rivals.'  It  was  very  unfavourably  received  the  first  night,  and  he  had 
the  prudence  to  prevent  a  total  defeat,  by  withdravang  it,  and  making 
jgreeX  and  various  improvements ;  the  event  has  been  successful,  for  it  is 
now  ^^^  though  not  i^ery  much  liked.  For  my  own  part,  I  think  he 
ought  to  be  treated  with  great  indulgence :  much  is  to.be  forgiven  in  an 
anthor  of  tibree  and  twenty,  whose  genius  is  likely  to  be  bis  principal  in- 
heritance." 

Garrick  wrote  a  prologue  and  epilogue  to  her  maiden  tragedy, 
'Percy/  and  she  with  great  complacency  tells : — 

"  When  Garrick  had  finished,  his  prologue  and  epilogue  (which  are  ex- 
cellent) he  desired  I  would  pay  him.  Dryden,  he  said,  used  to  have  five 
guineas  apiece ;  but  as  he  was  a  richer  man,  he  would  be  content  if  I 
would  treat  him  with  a  handsome  supper  and  a  bottle  of  claret.  We 
haggled  sadly  about  the  price,  I  insisting  that  I  could  only  afford  to  give 
him  a  beef  steak  and  a  pot  of  porter;  and  at  about  twelve  we  set  down 
to  some  toast  and  honey,  with  which  the  temperate  bard  contented  him- 
self. Several  very  great  ones  made  interest  to  hear  Garrick  read  the 
play,  which  he  peremptorily  refused." — ^p.  122,  vol.  i. 

However,  all  this  was  very  excusable  in  one  whom  the  dons  of 
fashion  and  erudition  were  so  unsparingly  loading  with  praise.  Her 
serious  moods  were  more  attractive  and  becoming.  Indeed,  she 
looks  best  when  plain  common  sense  and  careful  observation  guides 
her.     It  is  of  the  Opera  she  thus  writes  : — • 


1^  Life  of  Mrs,  Hannah  More, 

Bear  me,  some  god,  O  quickly  bear  me  hence, 
*;  To  wholesome  solitude,  the  nurse  of 

*  Sepse/  I  was  going  to  add  in  the  words  of  Pope,  till  I  reelected  that 
pence  had  a  more  appropriate  meaning,  and  was  as  good  a  rhyme.  This 
apostrophe  broke  from  me  on  coming  horn  the  Opera,  the  first  I  ever  iK^ 
the  last,  I  trust,  I  ever  shall  go  to.  For  what  purpose  has  the  Lord  of  the 
universe  made  his  creature  man  with  a  comprehensive  mind  ?  why  make 
him(  a  little  lower  than  the  angels  ?  why  give  him  the  faculty  of  thinking, 
the  powers  of  wit  and  memory ;  and,  to  crown  all,  an  immortal  and  never 
dying  spirit  ?  Why  all  this  wondrous  waste,  this  prodigality  of  bounty,  if 
the  mere  animal  senses  of  sight  and  hearing  (by  which  he  is  not  diE^ia- 
guished  from  the  brutes  that  perish)  would  have  answered  the  end  as  well ; 
and  yet  I  find  the  same  people  are  seen  at  the  Opera  every  night^-Hui 
amusement  written  in  a  language  the  greater  part  of  them  do  not  under- 
stand, and  performed  by  such  a  set  of  beings !  But  the  man 

'  Who  bad«  tht  reign  iioxnmeiice, 
Of  rescued  nature  and  reviving  sense/ 

sat  at  my  elbow,  and  reconciled  me  to  my  situation,  not  by  his  approbation, 
but  his  presence.  Going  to  the  Opera,  like  getting  drunk,  is  a  sin  that 
carries  its  own  punishment  with  it,  and  that  a  very  severe  one.  Tliank  my 
dear  Doctor  S.  for  his  kind  and  seasonable  admonitions  on  my  last  Sunday's 
engagement  at  Mrs.  Montagu's.  Conscience  had  done  its  office  before  ; 
nay,  was  busy  at  the  time ;  and  if  it  did  not  dash  the  cup  of  Pleasure  to  the 
ground,  infused  at  least  a  tincture  of  wormwood  into  it.  I  ^d  think  of  the 
alarming  call, '  What  doest  thou  here,  Elijah  ?'  and  I  thought  of  it  to-night 
at  the  Opera." — ^pp.  65, 56,  vol.  i. 

Again : — 

*'  Would  you  believe  it  ?    In  the  midst  of  all  the  pomps  and  vanities 
of  this  wicked  town,  I  have  taken  it  into  my  head  to  study  Hkea  dra- 
gon ;  I  read  four  or  five  hours  every  day,  and  wrote  ten  hours  yester- 
day.    How  long  this  will  last  I  do  not  know — hvit  I  fe&r  no  longer  than 
the  bad  weather.     I  wish  you  could  see  a  picture  Sir  Joshua  has  just 
finished,  of  the  prophet  Samuel,  on  his  being  called.    '  The  gaze  of  young 
astonishment '  was  never  so  beautifully  expressed.     Sir  Joshua  tells  me 
that  he  is  exceedingly  mortified  when  he  shews  this  picture  to  some  of 
the  great — they  ask  him  who  Samuel  was?     I  told  him  he  must  g^ 
somebody  to  make  an  Oratorio  of  Samuel,  and  then  it  would  not  be 
vulgar io  confess  they  knew  something  of  him.     He  said  he  was  glad  to 
find  that  I  was  intimately  acquainted  with  that  devoted  prophet.     He 
has  also  done  a  St.  John  that  bids  fair  for  immortality.     I  tell  him  that 
I  hop^  the  poets  and  painters  will  at  last  bring  the  Bible  into  fashion, 
and  that  people  will  get  to  like  it  from  taste,  though  they  ate  insensible 
to  its  spirit,  and  afraid  of  its  doctrines.     I  love  this  great  genius  for  not 
being  ashamed  to  take  his  subject  from  the  most  unfasluonable  of  all 
books.     Keeping  bad  company  leads  to  all  other  bad  things.     I  have  got 
the   headache  to-day,  by  raking  out  so  late  with  that  gay   hbertine 
Johnson.     Do  you  know — I  did  not — that  ho  wrote  a  quarter  of  the 
Adventurer?  I  made  him  tell  me  all  that  he  wrote  in  the  'Fugitive 
pieces.'  " — ^pp.  71,  72,  vol.  i. 

The  finest  and  most  instructive  parts  of  the  volume^  which  un- 
braces a  period  of  forty  years,   from  the  birth  of  its   subject  in 


lAft  of  Mrs.  Hmmah  M^re,  161 

1745  to  the  yew  1785,  are  those  that  regard  what  she  sees  and 
hears,  rather  than  what  she  has  done  and  is.  Yet  we  must  not 
charge  her  directly  with  vvnity ;  her  good  opinion  of  herself  was 
rather  simple  and  artless  than  ostentatious;  -and  we  cannot  but 
regard  her  with  the  kindliest  affections,  when  it  is  remembered  that 
on  returning  to  Bristol,  as  her  biographer  tells  us,  after  a  six 
months'  absence,  four  of  which  had  been  passed  between  the 
Adelphi  and  Hampton,  it  was  remarked,  that  success  and  applause 
had  not  made  any  change  in  her  deportment.  Take  the  picture  of 
the  trial  of  the  Duchess  of  Kingston : — 

"  I  wish  it  were  possible  for  me  to  give  you  the  slightest  idea  of  the 
scene  I  was  present  at  yesterday.     Garrick  would  make  me  take  his 
ticket  to  go  to  the  trial  of  the  Duchess  of  Kingston ;  a  sight  which,  for 
beauty  and  magnificence,  exceeded  any  thing  which  those  who  were 
never  present  at  a  coronation,  or  a  trial  by  peers,  can  have  the  least 
notion  of.     Mrs.  Gku*rick  and  1  were  in  full  dress  by  seven.    At  eight 
we  went  to  the  Duke  of  Newcastle's,  whose  house  adjoins  Westminster 
Hall,  in  which  he  has  a  large  gallery,  communicating  with  the  apart- 
ments in  his  house.     You  will  imagine  the  bustle  of  five  thousand  people 
getting  into  one  hall !  yet  in  all  this  hurry,  we  iimlked  in  trauauilly. 
When  they  were  all  seated,  and  the  King-at-arms  had  commanded  silence 
on  pain  of  imprisonment,  (which,  however,  was  very  ill  observed,)  the 
gentleman  of  the  black  rod  was  commanded  to  bring  in  his  prisoner. 
EHzabeth,  calling  herself  Duchess  Dowager  of  Kingston,  walked  in,  led 
by  black  rod  and  Mr.  la  Roche^  courtesying  profoundly  to  her  judges : 
when  she  bent,   the  lord  steward  called  out,  *  Madam,  you  may  rise; 
.which,  1  think,  was  literally  taking  her  up  before  she  was  down.    The 
peers  made  her  a  slight  bow.     The  prisoner  was  dressed  in  deep  mourn- 
ing, a  black  hood  on  her  head,  her  hair  modestly  dressed  and  powdered, 
A  black  silk  sacque,  with  crape  trimmings ;  black  gauze  deep  ruffles,  and 
black  gloves.     The  counsel  spoke  about  an  hour  and  a  quarter  each. 
Dunning's  manner  is  insufferably  bad,  coughing  and  spitting  at  every 
three  words;  but  his  sense  and  his  expression,  pointed  to  the  last  degree ; 
he  made  her  Grace  shed  bitter  tears.    I  haa  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
several  of  the  lords  speak,  though  nothing  mpte  than  proposals  on  com- 
mon things.      Among  these  were  Littleton,  Talbot,  Townsend,  and 
Camden.     The  fair  victim  had  four  virgins  in  white  behind  the  bar. 
She  imitated  her  great  predecessor,  Mrs.  Rudd,  and  affected  to  write 
very  often,  though  I  plainly  perceived  she  only  wrote  as  they  do  their 
love  epistles  on  the  stage,  without  forming  a  letter.    I  must  not  omit  one 
of  the  best  things ;  we  had  only  to  open  a  door,  to  get  at  a  very  fine  cold 
collation  of  all  sorts  of  meats  and  wines,  with  tea,  &c. — a  privilege  con- 
iined  to  those  who  belonged  to  the  Duk^  of  Newcastle.     I  fancy  the 
peeresses  would  have  been  glad  of  our  places  at  the  trial,  for  I  saw  Lady 
■Derby  and  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire  with  their  work-bags  full  of  good 
things.  Their  rank  and  dignity  did  not  exempt  them  from  the  'villainous 
appetites'  of  eating  4nd  drinking." 

If  Garrick's  partiality  towfiurds  his  protegee,  affords  a  lively  pic- 
ture' of  genuine  goodness^  her  devotion  in  return  was  no  less  re- 
markable. She  must  have  nicely  understood  and  ardently  admired 
his  'Hamlet:' — 

VOL.  III.    (1834.)   NO.  II.  N 


162  The  Life  of  Mrs.  Hannah  Hore. 

"  In  every  part  he  filled  the  whole  soul  of  the  spectator,  and  tran- 
scended the  most  finished  idea  of  the  poet.  The  requisites  for  Hamlet 
are  iK>t  only  various,  but  opposed.  In  him  they  are  all  united,  and  as 
it  were  concentrated.  One  thing  I  must  particularly  remark,  that,  whe- 
ther in  the  simulation  of  madness,  in  the  sinkings  of  despair,  in  the 
familiarity  of  friendship,  in  the  whirlwind  of  passion,  or  in  ijie  meltings 
of  tenderness,  he  never  once  forgot  he  was  a  prince ;  and  in  every  va- 
riety of  situation,  and  transition  of  feeling,  you  discovered  the  highest 
polish  of  fine  breeding  and  courtly  manners.** — vol.  i.  pp.  85,  86. 

The  great  actor's  death  in  1779,  was  an  era  in  her  life^  and  the 
chief  interest  arising  from  the  perusal  of  the  first  volume,  may  be  said 
to  belong  to  what  goes  before  that  event.  At  least  her  gaiety  in  a 
great  measure  ceases  from  that  period.  We  are  sure  that  onir 
readers  will  peruse  with  much  satisfiiction  and  profit,  the  following 
long  passage,  which  has  deeply  afiected  ourselves.  There  is  more 
than  fine  writing  in  it,  and  more  than  David  Garrick's  death. 
Hannah  from  a  sick  bed,  goes  to  attend  the  new-made  widow;  and 
here  is  their  meeting  :«- 

"  Adelphi,  Jan^  1779. 

*'  From  Dr«  Cadogans,  1  intended  to  have  gone  to  the  Adelphi.  but 
found  that  Mrs.  Garrick  was  that  moment  quitting  her  house,  while 
preparatious  were  making  for  the  last  sad  ceremony ;  she  very  wisely 
fixed  on  a  private  friend's  house  for  this  purpose,  where  she  could  be  at 
her  case.    I  got  there  just  hefore  her ;  she  was  prepared  for  meeting  me ; 
she  ran  into  my  arms,  and  we  hoth  remained  silent  for  some  minutes : 
at  last  she  whispered,  *  I  have  this  moment  embraced  his  ooffin»  and  you 
come  next.'    She  soon  recovered  herself,  and  said  with  great  compomote, 
*  The  goodness  of  God  to  me  is  inexpressible ;  I  desired  to  die,  bat  it  is 
his  will  that  I  should  live,  and  he  has  convinced  me  he  will  not  let  my 
life  be  quite  miserable,  for  he  gives  astonishing  strength  to  my  body, 
and  gr€U!&  to  my  heart ;  neither  do  I  deserve,  but  I  am  thankful  for 
both.      She  thanked  me  a  thousand  times  for  such  a  real  act  of  frieod- 
ship,  and  bade  me  be  comforted,  for  it  was  God's  will.    She  told  me 
they  had  just  returned  from  Althorp,  Lord  Spencer's,  where  he  had 
4>een  reluctantly  dragged,  for  he  had  felt  unwell  for  some  time;  but 
during  his  visit  he  was  often  in  such  fine  spirits  that  they  could  not  be^ 
lievc  he  was  ill.     On  his  return  home  he  appointed  Gadogan  to  meet 
him,  who  ordered  him  an  emetic,  the  warm  baUi,  and  the  usual  remedies, 
but  with  very  little  effect.    On  the  Sunday  he  was  in  good  spirits  and 
free  from  pain;  but  as  the  suppression  still  continued.  Dr.  Cadogan 
became  extremely  alarmed,  and  sent  for  Pott,  Heberden,  and  Schom* 
berg,  who  gave  him  up  the  moment  they  saw  him.    Poor  Garriek  stared 
to  see  his  room  full  of  doctors,  not  being  conscious  of  his  real  state.     No 
change  happened  till  the  Tuesday  evening,  when  the  surgeon  who  was 
sent  for  to  blister  and  bleed  him,  made  light  of  his  illness,  assuring  Mrs. 
Garrick  that  he  would  be  well  in  a  day  or  two,  and  insisted  on  her  going 
to  lie  down.     Towards  morning  she  desired  to  be  called  if  there  was  the 
least  change.     Every  time  that  she  administered  the  draughts  to  him  in 
the  night,  he  always  squeezed  her  hand  in  a  particular  manner,  and 
tipoke  to  her  with  the  greatest  tenderness  and  affection.     Immediately 
after  he  had  taken  his  last  medicine,  he  softly  said,  •  Oh !  dcar,'^  and 


J 


The  Life  of  Mrs,  Hannah  More.  163 

yielded  up  his  spirit  without  a  groan,  and  in  his  perfect  senses.  His 
beliaviour  during  the  night  was  all  gentleness  and  patience,  and  he 
frequently  made  apologies  to  those  about  him,  for  the  trouble  he  gave 
them. 

^'  On  opening  him,  a  stone  was  found  that  measured  five  inches  and  a 
half  round  one  way,  and  four  and  a  half  the  other,  yet  this  was  not  the 
immediate  cause  of  his  death ;  his  kidneys  were  quite  gone.  I  paid  a 
melancholy  visit  to  the  coffin  yesterday,  where  I  found  room  for  medita- 
tion, till  the  mind  'burst  with  thinking.'  His  new  house  is  not  so 
pleasant  as  Hampton,  nor  so  splendid  as  the  Adelphi,  but  it  is  commo- 
dious enough  for  all  the  wants  of  its  inhabitants ;  and  besides,  it  is  so 
quiet,  that  he  never  will  be  disturbed  till  the  eternal  morning,  and  never 
till  then  will  a  sweeter  voice  than  his  own  be  heard.  May  he  then  find 
mercy !  They  are  preparing  to  hang  the  house  with  black,  for  he  is  to 
lie  in  state  till  Monday.  I  dislike  this  pageantry,  and  cannot  help  think- 
ing that  the  disembodied  spint  must  look  with  contempt  upon  the  farce 
that  is  played  over  its  miserable  relics.  But  a  splendid  funeral  could 
not  be  avoided,  as  he  is  to  be  laid  in  the  Abbey  with  such  illustrious 
dust,  and  so  many  are  desirous  of  testifying  their  respect  by  attending. 

"  I  can  never  cease  to  remember  with  affection  and  gratitude,  so 
warm,  steady,  and  disinterested  a  friend;  and  1  can  most  truly  bear 
this  testimony  to  hss. memory,  that  I  never  witnessed,  in  any  family,  more 
decorum,  propriety^  and  regularity  than  in  his :  where  I  never  saw  a 
card,  or  even  met,  (ex^pt  in  one  instance^  a  person  of  his  own  profes- 
sion at  his  table :  of  which  Mrs.  Garrick,  oy  her  elegance  of  taste,  her 
correetness  of  manners,  and  very  original  turn  of  humour,  was  the 
brightest  ornament.  All  his  pursuits  and  tastes  were  so  decidedly  intel- 
lectual, that  it  made  the  society,  and  the  conversation  which  was  always 
to  be  found  in  his  circle,  interesting  and  ddightful." — vol.  i.  pp.  147-^149. 

But  the  drama  of  life^  and  the  fashion  of  this  worlds  are  more 
highly  finished  by  this  ferther  account  :— 

«  Adelphi,  Feb.  2,  1779. 
"  We  ^Miss  Cadogan  and  myself,)  went  to  Charing  Cross  to  see  the 
melancholy  procession.  Just  as  we  got  there  we  received  a  ticket  from 
the  Bishop  of  Rochester,  to  admit  us  into  the  Abbey.  No  admittance 
could  be  obtained  but  under  his  hand.  Wc  hurried  away  in  a  hackney 
coach,  dreading  to  be  too  late.  The  bell  of  Su  Martin's  and  the  Abbey 
gave  a  sound  that  smote  upon  my  very  soul.  When  we  got  to  the 
cloisters,  we  found  multitudes  striving  for  admittance.  We  gave  our 
ticket,  and  were  let  in,  but  unluckily  we  ought  to  have  kept  it.  Wc 
followed  the  man  who  unlocked  a  door  of  iron,  and  directly  closed  it 
upon  us,  and  two  or  three  others,  and  we  found  ourselves  in  a  tower, 
with  a  dark  winding  staircase,  consisting  of  half  a  hundred  stone  ste|)6. 
When  we  got  to  the  top  Uiere  was  no  way  out;  we  ran  down  again, 
ealied,  and  oeat  the  door  till  the  whole  pile  resounded  with  our  cries. 
Here  we  staid  half  an  hour  in  perfect  agony ;  we  were  sure  it  would 
be  all  over;  nay,  we  might  never  be  let  out;  we  might  starve;  we 
might  perish.  At  length  our  clamours  brought  an  honest  man, — a  guar- 
dian angel  I  then  thought  him.  We  implored  him  to  take  care  of  us,  and 
get  us  into  a  part  of  the  abbey  whence  we  might  see  the  grave.  He 
asked  for  the  Bishop's  ticket ;  we  had  given  it  away  to  the  wrong  pcr- 

N  2 


164  The  Life  of  Mrs.  Hannah  Mare. 

son ;  and  he  was  not  obliged  to  believe  we  ever  had  one ;  yet  he  saw  so 
'  much  truth  in  our  grief,  that  though  we  were  most  shabby,  and  a  hundred 
fine  people  were  soliciting  the  same  favour,  he  took  us  under  each  arm — 
carried  us  safely  through  the  crowd,  and  put  us  in  a  little  gallery  directly 
over  the  grave,  where  we  could  see  and  hear  every  thing  as  distinctly  as 
if  the  Abbey  had  been  a  parlour.  little  things  sometimes  affect  the 
mind  strongly  I  We  were  no  sooner  recovered  from  the  fresh  burst  of 
grief  than  I  cast  my  eyes,  the  first  thing,  on  Handel's  monument,  and 
read  the  scroll  in  his  hand,  *  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth.'  Just 
at  three  the  great  doors  burst  open  with  a  noise  th.it  shook  the  roof; 
the  organ  struck  up,  and  the  whole  choir  in  stnCins  only  less  solemn  than 
the  'archangel's  trump,'  began  Handel's  fine  anthem.  The  whole 
choir  advanced  to  the  grave,  in  hoods  and  surplices,  singing  all  the  way : 
then  Sheridan,  as  chief-mourner;  then  the  body,  ^alas  I  whose  body!) 
with  ten  noblemen  and  gentlemen,  pall-bearers;  then  the  rest  of  the 
friends  and  mourners;  hardly  a  dry  eye,— the  very  players,  bred  to  the 
trade  of  counterfeiting,  shed  genuine  tears. 

**  As  soon  as  the  body  was  let  down,  the  bishop  began  the  service, 
which  he  read  in  a  low,  but  solemn  and  devout  manner.  Such  an  awful 
stillness  reigned,  that  every  word  was  audible.  How  I  felt  it !  Judge  if 
my  heart  did  not  assent  to  the  wish,  that  the  soul  of  our  dear  brother  now 
departed  was  in  pesce.  And  this  is  all  of  Garrick !  Yet  a  very  little 
while,  and  he  shall  *  say  to  the  worm.  Thou  art  my  brother ;  and  to  cor- 
ruption. Thou  art  my  mother  and  my  sister.'  So  passes  away  the  fashion 
of  this  world.  ■  And  the  very  night  he  was  buried,  the  playhouses  were 
as  full,  and  the  Pantheon  was  as  crowded,  as  if  no  such  thing  had  hap- 
pened :  nay,  the  very  mourners  of  the  day  partook  of  the  revelries  of  the 
night ; — the  same  night  too ! 

*'  As  soon  as  the  crowd  was  dispersed,  our  friend  came  to  us  with  an 
invitation  from  the  bishop's  lady,  to  whom  we  had  related  our  disaster, 
to  come  into  the  deanery.  We  were  carried  into  her  dressing  room, 
but  being  incapable  of  speech,  she  very  kindly  said  she  would  not  inter- 
rupt such  sorrow,  and  left  us ;  but  sent  up  wme,  cakes,  and  all  manner 
of  good  things,  which  was  really  well-timed*  I  caught  no  cold»  not- 
withstanding all  I  went  through. 

"  On  Wednesday  night  we  came  to  the  AdeTphi, — to  this  house  I  She 
bore  it  with  great  tranquillity ;  but  what  was  my  surprise  to  see  her  go 
alone  into  the  chamber  and  bed,  in  which  he  had  died  that  day  fortnight. 
She  had  a  delight  in  it  beyond  expression,  I  asked  her  the  next  day 
how  she  went  through  it  ?  She  told  me  very  well ;  that  she  first  prayed 
with  great  composure,  then  went  and  kissed  the  dear  bed,  and  got  into 
it  with  a  sad  pleasure." — vol.  i.  pp.  156 — 159. 

From  the  death  of  Garrick  to  her'retreat  to  Cowslip  Green^  an 
interval  of  about  five  years.  Miss  More  spent  much  of  her  time 
with  the  great  actor's  widow;  but  during  this  period  she  was  gra- 
dually detaching  herself  from  the  dazzling  attractions  of  the  gay 
world,  and  becoming  better  prepared  for  the  vocation  which  she 
afterwards  so  consistently  followed.  When  we  said,  therefore,  that 
the  chief  interest  of  the  first  volume  belonged  to  what  goes  before 
the  death  of  Garrick,  we  meant  only  in  so  far  as  concerned  her  in- 
tsrcoursc  with  fashionable  and  celebrated  characters,  and  the  fasci- 


The  Life  of  Mr9,  Hannah  Mare.  165 

nations  of  a  brilliant  town  life.  Bat  to  persons  of  a  kindred  mind, 
the  progress  of  the  transition  of  her  trusting  heart  and  calculating 
head  to  another  style  of  Hving  and  occupations  will  be  a  more 
valuable  portion  of  biography.  We  are  pleased  to  find,  that  this 
change  was  neither  hasty  nor  undergone  without  a  full  inquiry  on 
her  part,  into  the  end  and  the  means  she  had  in  view  so  that  the 
admirable  consistency  of  her  religious  history,  cannot  but  be  in- 
structive, and  beheld  to  be  rational.  It  is  usual  to  hear,  even  tcom 
the  lips  of  respectable  people  such  trite  sayings,  regarding  persons 
of  Hannah  More's  character,  as  intimate  that  a  less  decided  system 
of  opinions  would  have  been  more  creditable  than  those  which  she 
for  very  many  years  most  becomingly  upheld.  This  seems  a  very 
pitifid  mode  of  detraction,  and  argues,  at  least,  a  lukewarmness  on 
the  part  of  the  objector,  which  can  never  be  commendable,  and 
particularly  in  momentous  concerns.  But  what  is  worse,  Hannah 
More  has  not  unirequently  been  the  object  of  the  most  uncharitable 
and  ungrounded  iusmuations:  for  it  is  not  to  be  endured  by  some, 
that  such  excellence  should  be  left  to  shine  unsullied.  Because  no 
slip  is  to  be  found  in  her  life  that  can  be  quoted  to  the  ridicule  of 
her  high  religious  profession,  the  slanderers  tongue  has  first  pre- 
sumed that  she  coiud  not  have  been  so  faultless,  and  next  distorted 
certain  &cts  to  fToxeBL  faux  pas  in  her  history.  We  allude  to  a 
period  of  her  life  we  have  passed  beyond  in  our  extracts,  and  to 
certain  transactions,  which  when  fairly  stated,  redoimd  greatly  to 
her  honour.  Our  meaning  will  be  made  manifest  by  the  following 
passage: — 

**  At  about  the  age  of  twenty-two,  she  received  the  addresses  of  a 
gentleman  of  fortune,  more  than  twenty  years  older  than  herself.  He 
was  a  man  of  strict  honour  and  integrity,  had  received  a  liberal  educa- 
tion, and,  among  other  recommendations  of  an  intellectual  character, 
had  cultivated  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  had  shewn  much  skill  in  the  embel- 
lishments of  rural  scenery,  and  the  general  improvement  of  his  estate. 
But  for  the  estate  of  matrimony  he  appears  to  have  wanted  that  essential 
qualification,  a  cheerful  and  com|K)sed  temper.  The  prospect  of  mar- 
riage, with  the  appendage  of  an  indifferent  temper,  was  gloomy  enough, 
but  there  were  other  objections,  on  which  it  is  unimportant  to  dwell.  It 
will  be  enough  to  produce  an  extract  from  a  letter  received  by  the  exe- 
cutrix of  Mrs.  More  soon  after  her  decease,  written  by  a  lady  whose 
early  and  long  intimacy  with  Mrs.  More,  and  personal  knowledge  of  this 
delicate  transaction,  coupled  with  the  great  respectability  of  her  cha- 
racter, entitle  her  testimony  to  the  fullest  credit*. 

"  Keynsham,  near  Bristol,  Feb.  10, 1834. 
**  My  dear  Madam, — I  knew  the  late  Mrs.  Hannah  More  for  nearly 
sixty-four  years,  I  may  say  most  intimately ;  for  during  my  ten  years' 
residence  with  her  sisters,  I  was  received  and  treated,  not  as  a  scholar, 
but  as  a  child  of  her  own,  in  a  confidential  and  al^BCtionate  manner ;  and 
ever  since  the  first  commencement  of  our  acquaintance  the  same  friendly 
intercourse  has  been  kept  up  by  letters  and  visiting.     I  was  living  at 

*  The  widow  of  the  late  Captain  Simmons. 


\66  Tie  Life  of  Mrf .  Hwmah  More. 

'hek'  liister'B  when  Mr.  Turner  paid  his  sddrfsses  to  her ;  for  it  was  owiag 
to  my  cousin  Turner  (whom  my  father  had  placed  at  their  school)  that 
she  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Turner.  He  always  had  his  cousins, 
the  two  Miss  Turners,  to  spend  their  holidays  with  him,  as  a  most  respect- 
able worthy  lady  managed  and  kept  his  house  for  him.  His  residence  at 
Belmont  was  beautifully  situated,  and  he  had  carriages  and  horses,  and 
every  thing  to  make  a  visit  to  Belmont  agreeable.  He  permitted  his 
cousins  to  ask  any  young  persons  at  the  school  to  spend  their  vacations 
with  them.  Their  governesses  being  nearly  of  their  own  age,  they  made 
choice  of  the  two  youngest  of  the  sisters, — Hannah  and  Patty  More. 
The  consequence  was  natural.  She  was  very  clever  and  fascinating, 
and  he  was  generous  and  sensible ;  he  became  attached,  and  made  bis 
offer,  which  was  accepted.  He  was  a  man  Of  large  fortune,  and  she  was 
young  and  dependent;  she  quitted  her  interest  in  the  concern  of  the 
school,  and  was  at  great  expense  in  preparing  and  fitting  herself  out  to 
be  the  wife  of  a  man  of  large  fortune.  The  day  was  fixed  more  than 
once  for  the  marriage ;  and  Mr.  Turner  each  time  postponed  it.  Her 
sisters  and  friends  interfered,  and  would  not  permit  her  to  be  so  treated 
and  trifled  with.  He  continued  in  the  wish  to  marry  her ;  but  her  friends, 
after  his  former  conduct,  and  on  other  accounts,  persevered  in  keeping 
up  her  determination  not  to  renew  the  engagement. 

"  I  am,  dear  Madam,  8«5.** 

"  In  this  difficulty  (we  borrow  still  from  the  same  authentic  source). 
Sir  James  Stonchonse  was  applied  to  for  his  timely  interposition,  and  his 
assistance  was  promptly  afforded.  In  the  counsel  of  such  a  friend  she 
found  resolution  to  terminate  this  anxious  and  painful  treaty.  The  final 
separation  was  amicably  agreed  upon,  and  the  contracting  parties 
broke  off  their  intercourse  by  mutual  consent.  At  their  last  conversa- 
tion together  Mr.  T.  proposed  to  settle  an  annuity  upon  her,  a  proposal 
which  was  with  dignity  and  firmness  rejected,  and  the  intercourse  ap- 
peared to  be  absolutely  at  an  end.  Let  it  be  recorded,  however,  in  justice 
to  the  memory  of  this  gentleman,  that  his  mind  was  ill  at  ease  till  an 
interview  was  obtained  with  Dr.  Stonehousc,  to  whom  he  declared  his 
intention  to  secure  to  Miss  More,  with  whom  he  had  considered  his 
union  as  certain,  an  annual  sum  which  might  enable  her  to  devote  her- 
self to  her  literary  pursuits,  and  compensate,  in  some  degree,  for  the 
robbery  he  had  committed  upon  her  time.  Dr.  Stonehouse  consulted 
with  the  friends  of  the  parties,  and  the  consultation  terminated  in  a 
common  opinion  that,  all  things  considered,  a  part  of  the  sum  proposed 
might  be  accepted  without  the  sacrifice  of  delicacy  or  propriety,  and  the 
settlement  was  made  without  the  knowledge  of  the  lady.  Dr.  Stonehouse 
consenting  to  become  the  agent  and  trustee.  It  was  not,  however,  till 
some  time  after  the  affair  had  been  thus  concluded,  tliat  the  consent  of 
Miss  More  could  be  obtained  by  the  importunity  of  her  friends. 

**  The  regard  and  respect  of  Mr.  T.  for  Miss  More  was  continued 
through  his  life ;  her  virtues  and  excellencies  were  his  favourite  theme 
among  his  intimate  friends,  and  at  his  death  he  bequeathed  her  a  thousand 
pounds." — vol.  i.  pp.  31 — 34. 

We  have  Quoted  this  long  passage,  because  Hannah  More  has 
not  sojourned  upon  earth  without  provoking  the  "strife  of  tongues." 
"Her  hand  was  once  more  solicited  aud  refused/'  we  are  told,  with 


Tke  Life  qf  Mrs.  Hannah  More,  167 

coDtequeaoes  not  unlike  those  that  followed  the  former  case^  and 
wher^n  her  conduct  presented  that  moral  strength  which  seems  to 
hare  characterised  every  part  of  her  life.  We  like  the  ardour  with 
which  she  passed  from  the  great  world  to  Cowslip  Green  near  Bris- 
tol, where  she  occupied  herself  in  cultivating  her  garden,  with  all 
the  genuine  enthusiasm  of  her  early  years,  when  she  longed  for  ^'  a 
habitation''  too  low  fiur  a  clock  I  Still  it  was  her  fortune  to  mingle 
much  and  dten  with  the  great,  where  her  tongue  became  bold  to 
proclaim  those  principles  which  her  pen  afterwards  so  strongly  and 
successfully  it  may  be  said,  vindicated.  Barley  Wood  was  the  next 
place  of  her  abode,  which  was  also  in  the  vicinity  of  Bristol,  where 
she  long  resided  and  enjoyed  the  choicest  society.  Indeed  it  is  to 
be  lamented,  that  the  world  broke  in  upon  her  from  every  quarter, 
and  that  her  correspondence  was  so  extensive  as  to  take  up  much 
of  her  valuable  time.  Her  removal  in  1828,  to  Cliflon,  the  last 
place  of  her  earthly  habitation,  may  be  considered  to  have  been 
•  coeval  with  the  close  of  her  literary,  active,  and  intellectual  life. 

We  have  not  attempted  to  give  any  thing  like  even  the  slightest 
oontinuoas  outline  of  the  history  of  Hannah  More*9  literary  worka, 
or  of  her  life,  as  laid  before  us  in  these  four  volumes,  which  are 
filled  with  letters  either  to  or  from  her,  and  from  which  the  narrative 
is  to  be  alone  properly  collected;  for  this  would, if  conducted  with  any 
ordinary  degree  of  minuteness,  have  led  us  into  a  length  quite  in- 
consistent with  our  limits.  The  number  of  incidents,  traits,  and 
characters  introduced,  can  only  be  obtained  by  a  perusal  of  the  work 
itself,  which  will  no  doubt  be  popular  with  the  religious  public. 

It  may  be  generally  afErmed  tnat  the  subject  of  this  biography 
met  with  remarkable  success  and  prosperity,  in  a  worldly  point  of 
view,  and  that  she  was  far  from  insensible  to  these  blessings.  In- 
deed, her  moral  character  wa^,  in  all  respects,  one  of  the  most  per- 
fect we  ever  read  of.  It  is  not  a  little  singular,  that  hes  external 
ecmdition  and  physical  powers  were  as  an  index  to  her  imperishable 
Qualities.  Her  eye  to  the  last  grew  not  dim,  her  hearing  was 
httle  impaired,  the  lineaments  of  her  fece  continued  unwrinkled 
nearly  to  the  close  of  life,  and  few  of  the  infirmities  usually  inse- 
parable from  sinking  nature  assailed  her  yet;  she  spent,  almost 
four  score  and  ten  years  in  her  pilgrimage  on  earth.  The  last 
scene  in  which  she  performed  a  part  upon  this  stage  was  of  a  piece 
with  all  that  had  preceded  it : — 

**  The  gradual  dissolution  and  departure  of  this  gentle  ornament  of  her 
sex  shall  be  described  in  the  natural  and  affecting  language  of  the  friend 
who  cheered  and  comforted  her  last  days  and  her  last  hours,  and  counted 
the  last  beat  of  her  pulse.  'During  this  illness  of  ten  months,  the  time 
was  past  in  a  series  of  alternations  between  restlessness  and  composure, 
Icmg  sleeps,  and  long  wakefulness,  with  pccasional  great  excitement, 
elevated  and  sunken  spirits.  At  length,  nature  seemed  to  shrink  from 
further  conflict,  and  the  time  of  her  deliverance  drew  near.  On  Friday, 
the  6th  of  September,  1833,  we  offered  up  the  raomiDg  family  devotion 


1 68  The  Life  of  Mrs.  Hannah  More. 

by  her  bcd-sidc:  she  was  silent,  and  apparently  attentive,  with  her  hands 
devoutly  lifted  up.  From  eight  in  the  evening  of  this  day,  till  nearly 
nine,  I  sat  watching  her.  Her  face  was  smooth  and  glowing.  There 
was  an  unusual  brightness  in  its  expression.  She  smiled,  and  endeavour- 
ing to  raise  herself  a  little  from  her  pillow,  she  reached  out  her  arms  as 
if  catching  at  something,  and  while  making  this  effort,  she  once  called, 
'^  Patty,'  (the  name  of  her  last  and  dearest  sister,)  very  plainly,  and  ex- 
claimed, *  Joy  P  In  this  state  of  quietness  and  inward  peace,  she  remained 
for  about  an  hour.  At  half-past  nine  o'clock,  Dr.  Carrick  came.  The 
pulse  had  become  extremely  quick  and  weak.  At  about  ten,  the  symptoms 
of  speedy  departure  could  not  be  doubted.  She  fell  into  a  dozing  sleep, 
and  slight  convulsions  succeeded,  which  seemed  to  be  attended  with  no 
pain.  She  breathed  softly,  and  looked  serene.  The  pulse  became  fainter 
and  fainter,  and  as  quick  as  lightning.  It  was  almost  extinct  from  twelve 
o'clock,  when  the  whole  frame  was  very  serene.  With  the  exception  of 
a  sigh  or  a  groan,  there  was  nothing  but  the  gentle  breathing  of  infemt 
sleep.  Contrary  to  expectation,  she  survived  the  night.  At  six  o'clodc 
on  Saturday  morning,  I  sent  in  for  Miss  Roberts.  She  lasted  out  till  ten 
minutes  after  one,  when  I  saw  the  last  gentle  breath  escape;  and  one 
more  was  added  *  to  that  multitude  which  no  man  can  number,  who  sing 
the  praises  of  God  and  of  the  Lamb  for  ever  and  ever.' " — ^pp.  310,  311, 
vol.  iv. 

The  able  biographer  concludes  the  work  wbich  is  fall  of  eniter- 
tainment,  and  the  purest  principles,  with  a  fine  passage,  valuable 
alike  for  its  truth,  taste,  and  feeling  ;  which  cannot  but  have  much 
weight  in  recommending  the  whole  to  public  fiivour : — 

**  I  now  commit  the  life  and  correspondence  of  this  Christian  ladv  to 
the  sentence  of  the  great  public,  throughout  which  her  name  and  fame 
may  be  said  to  have  circulated.  That  all  opinions  should  agree  respect- 
ing the  merit  of  one  who  has  so  often  stood  in  strong  opposition  to  pre- 
vailing practices,  could  only  be  expected  by  those  who  in  their  reliance 
on  the  power  of  truth,  and  their  admiration  of  virtue,  have  forgotten  the 
discrepancies  of  temper  and  taste,  the  influence  of  habit  upon  the  judg- 
ment, and  the  enmity  of  the  world  towards  those  who  have  lived  above  it. 
The  value  of  this  record  will  be  variously  estimated.  That  of  her  who 
was  calumniated  in  her  life  time,  the  memory  should  Lc  altogether  spared, 
it  would  be  enthusiasm  or  ignorance  to  expect;  but  to  one  who  bore  her 
faculties  so  meekly,  and  lived  so  much  for  the  common  good,  I  cannot 
but  hope  that  even  the  exercise  of  self-denial,  the  defence  of  practical 
holiness,  and  the  abdication  of  all  hope  of  help  but  in  a  sacrificed  Saviovir, 
will  be  pardoned,  even  by  those  who  hold  a  standard  of  right  and  wrong 
independent  of  the  gospel,  and  find  their  justification  in  a  satisfied  con- 
science. 

**  It  has  been  my  perilous  privilege  to  have  the  task  assigned  me  of  hoM- 
ing  out  this  jjattern  to  imitation.  I  have  attempted  it  with  great  fear  of 
doing  incomplete  justice  to  such  a  character,  hut  with  an  anxiety  for  the 
cause  connected  with  that  character,  which  in  a  crisis  like  the  present 
throws  every  other  consideration  into  comparative  insignificance.  I  con- 
clude my  humble  labour  with  this  final  remark — that  as  it  is  not  meant  to 
be  maintained  that  Hannah  More  was  scripturaliy  or  morally  perfect,  but 
a  sinning  mortal,  dei)ending  on  the  succours  of  Divine  grace;  so  neither 


Alphabet  of  Natural  Theology,  169 

•  * 

is  it  intended  to  represent  her  works' as  faultless;  but  on  the  contrary,  as 
coupling,  with  their  excellence  the  defects  which  belong  to  the  vacillations 
of  genius.  There  will  be  found  in  them  some  redundancies  of  sentiment 
and  language,  some  tautologies,  some  errors  in  grammar,  some  incon- 
gruideb  of  allusion  and  illustration,  and  there  may  be  some  inconsistencies 
m  reasoning ;  to  which  may  be  added,  inadvertencies  imputable  to  her 
habitual  haste  of  composition,  and  her  disadvantageous  distance  from  the 
press.  But  her  mistakes  were,  in  general,  such  as  common  critics  are 
proud  to  discover,  and  uncommon  talents  are  prone  to  commit.  And 
upon  the  whole  it  may  be  questioned  whether  any  one  in  modem  times 
has  lived  so  long  with  less  waste  of  existence,  or  written  so  much  with 
less  abuse  of  ability; — whether  wisdom  has  been  better  consecrated  dr 
religion  better  seconded,  in  this  our  day  at  least,  by  the  pure  and  prudent 
application  of  popular  talents." — ^pp.  397 — 399,  vol.  iv. 

Art.  III. — Alphabet  of  Natural  Theology,  for  the  Use  of  B&ginnert.    By 
James  Rennie,  M.A.     18mo.     London.     Orr  and  Smith.     1834. 

The  announcement  of  an  Alphabet  on  this  profound  theme  sounds 
in  onr  ears  as  not  a  little  strange.  We  are  acquainted  with  similar 
little  rudimental  works  from  the  same  quarter^  on  various  arts  and 
sciences^  all  of  which  contain  a  vast  deal  within  a  very  small  com- 
pasSy  and  arranged  in  such  a  lucid  shape  as  to  prove  that  the 
anthor  is  not  only  master  of  the  most  varied  knowledge,  but  of 
simplicity.  But  the  doctrines  of  Natural  Theology,  which  have 
hitherto  been  treated  in  abstruse  or  bulky  volumes,  to  be  taken  up 
as  one  of  the  femily  of  these  little  Alphabets,  and  addressed  to  the 
capacities  of  beginners,  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  a  novel  attempt. 

And  yet,  when  one  thinks  of  the  works  of  creation,  he  cannot  but 
see  that  there  is  much  particularly  suited  to  the  comprehension  and 
engagement  of  the  young  or  unsophisticated  inquirer's  mind,  to  tes- 
tify the  existence  of  a  Creator.  How  much  is  there  of  beauty,  of 
power,  of  goodness,  displayed  in  every  thing  that  meets  the  eye,  or 
arrests  the  reasoning  faculties  !  It  is  a  sweet,  and  uniformly  a  suc- 
cessful employment  for  a  father,  when  in  his  garden,  or  when  tra- 
versing his  fields,  to  point  out  to  his  child  the  evidences  of  a  benefi- 
cent Creator.  Nay,  the  young  mind  is  naturally  curious  and 
inquisitive,  and  questions  with  a  pointedness,  in  a  manner  that 
leads  to  the  direct  merits  of  the  subject.  We  remember  how 
greedily,  while  on  our  knees,  and  leaning  upon  a  mother's  lap,  as 
she  sat  by  a  bed  of  flowers,  on  a  summer  sabbath,  we  would  inter- 
rogate "who  made  the  skies,  and  the  flowers."  We  remember  not 
when  or  how  it  was,  that  she  first  unfolded  to  us  the  marvellous  and 
delightful  truth  to  the  innocent  mind — there  is  a  God  ;  but  sure 
we  are,  from  all  we  can  recollect,  that  it  met  with  an  apt  ear,  and  a 
reliance,  not  only  that  a  parent  spoke  truth,  but  with  an  acquiescence 
so  easy  and  rapid,  as  to  prove  that  the  capacity  was  able,  without  a. 
cavil,  to  take  up  the  theme,  and  to  make  it  our  own.  An  Alphabet 
for  the  use  of  beginners,  on  this  most  important  and  engaging  of  all 
subjects  to  the  unperverted  mind,  is  not,  therefore,  in  so  far  as  the 


1 70  Alphabet  of  Natural  Tkeolagy. 

theme  ito^  is  concerned^  an  unreasonable,  or  merely  ingenious 
attempt. 

There  are,  however,  many  things  to  encounter  by  him  who  endea- 
▼ooTB,  in  a  printed  form,  to  teach  and  elucidate  the  most  apparent 
evidences  of  the  being  and  perfections  of  God.  Atheists  have,  with 
great  plausibility  published  their  doctrines ;  and,  though  truth  has 
a  natural  simplicity  and  charm  over  the  most  cuxming  subtilties  to 
the  young,  yet  the  mind,  as  it  expands,  and  becomes  better  ac- 
quainted with  a  tortuous  world,  can  easily  have  its  ingenuity  per- 
verted, its  natural  and  immediate  dictates  of  reason  supplanted  by 
doubts,  and  all  the  pride  of  the  heart  engaged,  in  showing  off,  as 
being  wiser  than  others,  were  that  wisdoran  othing  more  than  singu- 
larity. Thus  we  have  many  would-be  atheists ;  and  thus  he,  who, 
as  the  author  before  us,  would  teach  the  most  important  and  obvious 
truths,  has  at  the  very  threshold  to  wade  through  many  cunning 
and  ingenious  peiplexities  invented  by  vicious  and  hard-hearted  men, 
and  to  surmount  not  a  little  learned  rubbish.  For  it  is  a  fact,  and  oae 
too  that  may  be  extensively  taken  as  a  guide,  that  truth  is  simple  and 
obvious,  whilst  error  naturally  seeks  perverse  and  dark  ways.  And, 
in  reference  to  the  doctrines  of  Ncttural  Theology,  we  may  lay  it 
down  as  a  safe  rule,  that  when  the  arguments  on  the  one  side  are 
less  intelligible  than  the  evidence  on  the  other,  there  can  be  little 
question  where  the  error  lies. 

But,  besides  those  who  have  wickedly  perverted  evidence  on 
this  mighty  subject,  there  are  not  a  few  avowed  and  zealous  friends 
of  the  truth,  who  have  darkened  it  by  a  multitude  of  words  without 
knowledge,  by  unnecessary  efibrts,  or  untenable  arguments,  betray- 
ing the  inquirer,  who  trusted  to  them,  first  into  confusion,  and  last 
into  confirmed  scepticism.  Our  author,  therefore,  has  thrown  him- 
self into  a  sea  of  trouble,  and  evinced  not  a  little  hardihood  in  un- 
dertaking to  direct  the  ingenous  inquirer  amid  the  rocks  and  the 
breakers  of  such  a  waste. 

Before  we  call  upon  our  readers  to  behold  how  he  has  conducted 
himself  in  this  difficult,  because  perplexed  inquiry,  we  have  a  word 
for  some  of  those  to  whom  it  is  addressed.  Our  foregoing  observa- 
tions refer  chiefly  to  the  young,  but  there  are  others  who  may  justly 
be  called  beginners  in  the  field.  HoW  many  thousands  are  there  in 
our  populous  and  refined  cities,  men,  too,  of  handsome  exterior, 
and  lofty  bearing,  who  are  as  ignorant  as  when  they  were  little  boys 
of  the  subjects  here  discussed!  We  venture  to  affirm,  that  many  a 
man  who  is  wise  in  his  worldly  business,  may  be  found,  who  speaks 
of  God,  too,  very  frequently,  that  yet  cannot  give  a  reason  for  the 
faith  that  is  in  him ;  who  knows  nothing  of  the  character  of  the  Al- 
mighty ;  who,  in  short,  only  believes  in  him  according  to  the  report 
of  the  country.  How  very  irrational  is  all  this!  Pains,  to  excess, 
are  taken  to  oecome  master  of  any  other  subject  of  inquiry ;  but  of 
Him  who  made  man,  and  is  to  judge  man,  there  axe  those  who  never 
spend  an  hour  in  learning  any  thing.     Now  if  we  should  find  that 


Aipkabei  of  Natural  Thtolofy.  171 

thiB  little  half-a-orown  vofaiine  is  well  calculated  to  yield  them  much 
of  that  which  they  so  remarkably  require^  both  in  cnrectly  teachings 
and  in  dexterously  sweeping  awa^  the  flippancies  of  scoffi«»  or  the 
foolishness  of  iiedse  philosophers,  it  will  be  a  still  more  fearful  degree 
of  carelessness  that  hereafter  characterizes  the  ignorant  among  us  oi 
whom  we  speak^  should  they  remain  as  they  are. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  little  volume  we  have  explanations 
of  the  words  Theology^  Deism  and  Deists^  Atheism  and  Atheists^  in 
a  very  clear  and  forcible  shape. 

'•  We  are  indebted  to  the  Greeks,  as  in  many  other  similar  instances, 
for  the  term  Theology,  meaning  literally  '  God-study ;'  which,  though  it 
seems  to  sound  harsh  and  singular,  would  not  probably  have  done  so  had 
it  been  early  introduced  into  our  language  and  rendered  as  familiar  to 
the  ear  as  the  word  'Theology.'  I  shall,  therefore,  only  use  it  here 
as  a  familiar  illustration  of  the  term  derived  from  the  Greek,  having  no 
wish  to  interfere  with  established  and  well-known  terms. 

"  The  branch  of  study  comprehended  under  Theology  has  two  grand 
divisions,  accordinj^  as  it  is  confined  to  the  doctrines  derived  from  biblical 
sources,  termed  *  Kevealed/  or  '  Christian*  Theology ;  or,  as  it  is  confined 
to  facts  and  reasonings  derived  from  examining  the  works  of  creation, 
termed  '  Natural'  Theology.  It  is  the  latter  only  of  which  it  is  proposed  to 
treat  in  tins  Alphabet. 

"  It  may  be  well  to  remark,  however,  that  it  is  not  always  possible  to 
separate  Natural  Theology  from  Christian  Theology,  in  consequence  of 
what  Lord  Bacon  terms  '  Idols  of  the  Den/  or  pecuHar  modes  of  thinking 
produced  by  early  education  and  by  particular  coiurses  of  reading.  From 
these  causes  many  authors,  when  discussing  the  subjects  of  Natural  The- 
ology, reason  unfairly,  inasmuch  as  they  pretend  to  draw  their  materials 
from  the  works  of  creation  ;  whereas  they  indirectly,  and  it  may  be  uncon- 
sciously, derive  certain  notions  of  God  from  the  bible,  and  endeavour  to 
make  their  arguments  from  natural  sources  coincide  with  these  notions.  In 
the  same  way,  it  is  common  to  see  a  theorist  build  up  a  goodly  fabric  of 
fancies,  to  the  support  of  which  he  gathers  all  sorts  of  facts  suited  to  his 
purposed,  embellishing  some,  and  shearing  others  of  their  fair  proportions 
when  they  will  not  square  with  his  views. 

"  In  writing  this  little  book,  I  do  not  pretend  that  I  can  free  myself 
firom  these  '  Idols  of  the  Den,'  among  which  writers  on  Natural  Theology 
often  get  entangled  ;  but  so  far  as  I  shall  be  aware  of  it  myself,  I  shall, 
as  I  go  along,  point  out  the  distinction  to  beginners  by  reference,  in  all 
necessary  cases,  to  texts  of  scripture.  This  will  be  the  more  important, 
from  the  ^t  that  those  who  call  themselves  Deists,  and  who  reject 
Christian  Theology,  most  commonly  borrow  the  best  parts  of  their  creed 
from  the  Bible  without  acknowledging  their  debt,  like  those  who  having 
no  money  of  their  own  live  in  splendour  at  the  expense  of  their  creditors. 

"  Deism  and  Deists. — ^The  words  '  Deism'  and  '  Deist'  are  not,  like 
*  Theology,'  derived  from  the  Greek,  but  from  the  Latin ;  and  may  be 
rendered  more  in  the  Saxon  form  by  '  God-ism'  and  '  God-ist ;'  Deism 
implying  a  belief  in  the  existence  of  God  and  the  ascribing  of  certain  attri- 
butes or  qualities  to  Him  ;  and  Deist,  an  individual  who  believes  in  such 
existence  and  in  such  attributes.  The  deist,  as  has  just  been  mentioned, 
professes  to  derive  all  his  knowledge  of  God  from  the  observation  of  nature, 


172  Alphabet  of  Natural  Theology, 

and  particularly  not  to  depend  upon  the  Bible  for  any  part  thereof,  at 
least,  not  to  consider  the  knowledge  he  thence  obtains  as  of  any  higher 
Buthority  than  that  obtained  from  Cicero,  Confuciae,  or  Mahomet. 

"The  similar  terms  Theism  and  Theist  are  often  used  to  disdnguiah 
a  belief  and  a  believer  in  God,  who  does  not  disbelieve  the  inspiration  of 
the  Bible. 

"  Atheism  and  Atheists, "^Aa  Deism  or  Theism  implies  belief  in  the  exis- 
tence of  God, '  Atheism'  implies  a  disbelief  in  that  existence.  The  whole 
reasoning,  consequently,  of  Natural  Theology  is  directed  against  Atheism, 
and  the  arguments  which  have  been  devised  for  its  support ;  the  arguments 
chiefly  of  certain  philosophical  sects,  and  of  individual  writers  who  have, 
from  time  to  time,  appeared  during  the  last  two  thousand  years,  and  are  not 
wanting  in  the  present  age,  though  the  doctrine  never  has,  and  happily  never 
can  become  popular  or  much  difixtsed,  inasmuch  as,  upon  the  evidence  alone 
of  the  history  of  all  nations,  it  is  altogether  at  variance  with  human  na- 
ture. 

"  Individuals,  who  profess  themselves  to  be  atheists,  are  almost  exclu- 
sively theoretical  philosophers,  such  as  pretend  to  rise  above  what  they 
term  common  prejudices  and  vulgar  belief.  Some  ignorant  persons,  har- 
dened in  crime,  occasionally  pretend  to  disbelieve  in  the  existence  of  God ; 
but  if  they  ever  really  do  so,  which  appears  doubtful,  their  dis^ielief  is 
merely  temporary." — ^pp.  1—4. 

From  the  next  thirty  pages  or  so  we  shall  not  extract  aay  party 
not  because  the  matter  is  less  valuable^  but  because  it  cannot  so  well 
be  understood  unless  taken  as  a  whole.  We  may,  however,  name 
the  points  there  treated  of,  that  the  reader  may  perceive  the  coarse 
our  author  takes.  The  leading  question  is,  what  are  the  ideas  which 
men  have  formed  of  God's  person?  Under  this  the  Biblical  repre- 
sentations are  given ;  next  the  Mythological,  in  various  countries  and 
ages.  The  representations  of  the  Ancient  Philosophers  follow ;  then 
the  refutation  of  Atheistical  inferences.  Last  of  all,  under  the  ge- 
neral head  mentioned,  we  have  the  doctrines  of  Materialism  and 
Spiritualism  shortly  stated.  The  recapitulation  of  the  entire  dis- 
cussion is  in  these  words : — 

"  The  examination  and  analvsis  which  has  been  given  of  the  idea 
of  God,  in  childhood,  in  numhood,  among  philosophers,  poets,  paint- 
ers, statuaries,  as  well  as  the  representations  in  the  Bible  and  of  the 
mythologists  of  all  ages  and  nations — all  lead  to  the  following  uniform 
conclusions. 

''  1.  That  every  thing  connected  with  the  id^  of  God  is  bont>wed 
directly  or  indirectly  from  human  nature,  or  from  some  familiar  object 
on  earth. 

"  2.  That  though  atheists  thence  infer  either  the  non-existence  of  God, 
or  his  possessing  exclusively  a  human  form  and  human  attributes,  their 
inference  is  inadmissible  and  illogical. 

"  3.  That  every  human  conception  formed  of  God  being  figurative, 
and  impossible  to  be  otherwise,  in  the  same  way  as  every  conception 
formed  of  the  soul  of  man  is  figurative,  all  our  ideas  of  God  are  conse- 
quently inadequate,  imperfect,  and  obscure ;  but  it  would  not  follow, 
because  we  ::  ay  see  the  sun  through  the  horizontal  misty  air  shorn  of 


Alphabet  of  NaHtrai  Theology,  173 

•his  beaiiis,  that  therefore  neither  sunbeams  nor  the  sun  itself  have  any 
existence.     Yet, 

*•*  4.  That  these  figurative  and  metaphorical  ideas  formed  of  God  are 
no  proof  whatever  of  the  existence  of  God :  which  rests  upon  other  evi- 
dence, to  be  presently  adduced;  they  only  prove  the  similarity  of  human 
conceptions,  by  consequence  either  of  education  or  of  tradition. 

'*  Having  thus  gone,  with  considerable  fullness  of  detail,  into  the 
analysis  of  the  idea  of  God,  the  way  will  be,  as  I  hope,  rendered  more 
clear  for  proving  the  existence^of  God,  which  atheism  denies,  and  which 
many  philosophers,  not  professedly  atheists,  do  not  at  all  recognise  in 
their  theories  and  systems." — pp.  36,  37. 

The  author  next  enters  directly  upon  the  proofs  of  the  existence 
of  God. 

*'  Although  it  is  not  very  probable  that  any  atheist  was  ever  brought  to 
give  up  or  change  his  ojnnions  by  force  of  argument,  yet  may  arguments 
against  atheism  be  rendered  of  much  use  in  confirming  the  wavering, 
and  still  more  in  leading  the  minds  of  younger  readers  into  a  right  train 
of  thinking  upon  so  momentous  a  subject. 

**  The  proofs  in  question  are  usually  reckoned  to  be  of  two  kinds.  In 
reasoning,  according  to  the  first  mode,  a  cause  is  assumed  as  a  basis,  and 
the  effect  is  inferred  therefrom :  as  if  we  should  assume  that  the  human 
soul  is  destitute  of  parts  and  indivisible,  inferring  from  this,  that  it  can- 
not be  destroyed  and  must  consequently  be  immortal.  In  reasoning 
again,  according  to  the  second  mode,  the  inferences  are  all  made  from 
effects  to  causes,  as  if  we  should  infer  the  indestructibility  of  the  soul 
from  the  fact  of  our  uniform  strong  desire  thereof — ^^  our  longing  after 
immortality,*  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  circumstance  that  means  are 
amply  provided  for  the  gratification  of  all  our  other  desires,  which  indeed 
is  the  only  argument,  apart'  from  revelation,  worthy  of  the  least  notice  in 
proof  of  the  soul's  immortality.*'— p.  38. 

He  begins  with  the  second  of  these  modes  of  reasonings  which  has 
been  so  finely  amplified  by  Paley.  The  author  cannot  do  more  than 
condense  the  arguments  of  his  predecessors  in  the  same  line,  or  en- 
force them  by  tne  most  striking  examples.  And  all  this  he  has 
done  in  an  original  manner^  as  any  one  at  all  conversant  with  the 
arguments  aposteriori,  as  conducted  by  other  writers,  will  at  once 
perceive*  In  proof  of  the  existence  of  an  intelligent  Almighty 
Creator,  design  and  contrivance,  as  displayed  in  Creation^  must  be 
a  sound  ground  to  go  upon.  The  instances  here  given  are  striking 
and  instructive,  at  the  same  time  well  adapted  to  the  scope  of  this 
little  volume.  He  begins  with  the  structure  and  hatching  of  various 
species  of  eggs ;  first  giving  those  of  the  peacock,  the  stork,  the 
goose,  the  eagle,  and  the  crocodile,  which  are  represented  by  wood- 
cuts, as  are  several  others  of  the  illustrations. 

*'  The  contents  of  these  five  eggs  are  exactly  similar,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  slight  difference  in  that  of  the  crocodile,  but  sligWb  indeed  com- 
pared with  Uie  difference  of  the  animals  produced  therefrom.  In  looking 
at  the  first  egg,  *  could  imagination,*  to  use  the  words  of  Dr.  Drum- 
mond,   •  ever  conjure  up,  even  in  the  brightest  moments  of  inspired 


174  Alphabet  of  Natural  Theology. 

genius,  the  idea  of  a  peacock  springing  out  of  the  shell ;  yet  the  peacock, 
in  all  the  glory  of  dazzling  colours,  is  the  product  of  a  little  glairy  fluid 
contained  in  a  capsule  of  chalk,  and  in  nowise  different,  so  far  as  we  can 
perceive,  from  what  produces  a  barn-door  fowl.  Has  not  the  hand  of 
Divinity  here  written,  almost  without  a  metaphor,  in  letters  of  gold,  the 
wonders  of  its  creative  power  ?  Look  at  a  single  feather  of  the  peacock ; 
consider  that  its  shining  metallic  barbs,  its  superlatively  beautiful  eye, 
and  all  the  wonders  it  exhibits  of  iridescent,  rich,  and  changeable  hues, 
according  to  the  angle  in  which  it  lies  to  the  light ;  that  its  form,  its 
solidity,  its  flexibility,  its  strength,  its  lightness,  and  all  its  wonders  (for 
in  the  eye  of  intelligence  every  part  of  it  is  a  wonder),  had  their  origin 
in  a  little  mucilage ;  and  then  consider  whether,  in  looking  on  such  an 
object,  we  should  be  content  with  thinking  no  more  about  it  than  simply 
that  it  is  a  peacock's  feather.  Yet  this  is  too  much  the  practice.  Above 
us,  and  below ;  on  the  right  side,  and  on  the  left ;  in  every  element,'  in 
every  situation,  the  works  of  Almighty  Power  are  present,  and  all  abound* 
in^  hi  instruction  of  the  highest  kind ;  and  that  they  make  not  the  im- 
pressions they  should  do  upon  us  is  chiefly  owing  to  the  extraordinary 
anomaly,  that  natural  history  forms  no  necessary  part  of  the  education  of 
young  or  old.  Bnt  if  a  single  feather  be  so  wonderful  a  production,  what 
are  we  to  think  of  the  entire  bird.' 

'*  And  what  are  we  to  think,  I  may  add,  of  the  wonderful  difierence 
between  two  birds,  a  peacock  and  a  pea-hen,  produced  from  eg^  so  like 
that  the  eye  cannot  distinguish  them  ?  Yet  the  peacock  is  furnish^  with 
a  magnificent  and  gorgeous  tail,  while  the  pea-hen  is  arrayed  in  plain  and 
imobtrusive  colours. 

'*  The  second  egg^  which  is  not  quite  so  much  bulged  out  at  the  larger 
end,  and  is  rather  paler  in  colour,  produces  the  common  stork,  a  bird  very 
different  indeed  in  form  and  in  colour  from  the  peacock.  It  is  all  white 
except  the  wings,  which  are  black,  and  while  the  peacock's  tail  when 
expanded  would  entirely  cover  the  st<^,  the  latter  has  a  very  short  tail, 
but  its  legs  are  twice  as  long  as  those  of  the  peacock.  The  stork  abb 
feeds  on  frogs  and  garbage,  while  the  peacock  lives  chiefly  on  grain,  and 
in  a  wild  state  on  pepper. 

"  The  third  egg^  which  is  rather  less  taper  at  the  small  end  than  that  of 
the  stork,  and  at  the  same  time  whiter,  produces  the  common  goose ;  while 
the  fourth  egg  produces  the  common  eagle  of  this  country,  distinguished 
when  full  grown  by  its  white  tail.  No  two  birds  could  differ  more  than 
the  goose  and  the  eagle  in  their  dispositions  and  mode  of  life,  even  from 
the  very  time  they  are  hatched.  The  young  gosling,  the  moment  it  is 
out  of  the  egg,  can  run  about  and  feed  itself  with  the  utmost  ease  and 
agility ;  while  the  young  eaglet  is  blind  and  helpless,  and  must  be  fed  for 
many  days  by  its  parents.  The  gosling  will  plunge  fearlessly  into  the  first 
water  it  sees,  and  will  swim  about  as  dextrously  as  its  dam,  but  if  an 
eaglet  were  put  into  a  pond  it  would  inevitably  be  drowned.  The  goose 
feeds  on  grass,  while  the  eagle  would  starve  rather  than  swallow  a  mouth- 
ful of  it :  Spallanzani  could  not  even  by  any  art  compel  an  eagle  to  taste 
bread,  though  a  goose  would  consider  this  the  greatest  dainty  it  could 
have.  Yet  the  egg  of  the  goose  is  very  similar  in  all  respects  to  the  egg 
of  the  eaglo,  and  their  slight  difference  would  not  be  readily  detected 
except  by  a  naturalist  who  had  paid  attention  to  the  subject. 


Aipkabet  of  Nuiurml  7%eohgy.  175 

**  The  ftfth  egg,  which  produoes  a  crocodik,  though  noKrl j  of  the  nine 
size  as  the  other  four,  differs  from  them  all  ui«a  few  partiniiBrs;,  which, 
however,  se^n  of  too  small  importance,  so  far  as  exteraal  aspect  goes,  to 
indicate  the  extraordinary  difference  of  the  refid\e  from  the  birds.  *  An 
egg  of  a  crocodile  of  fourteen  feet  long,'  saya  Count  Lacepede,  *  killed 
in  Upper  Egypt  in  the  act  of  laying,  ia  preserved  in  the  dibtnei  Royaie 
at  Paris.  It  is  whitish  and  of  an  creal  fiffiure,  covered  by  a  shell  similar 
to  that  of  a  pullet's  egg,  not  quite  so  hard,  but  the  film  or  membrane 
lining  the  shell  is  thicker  and  stronger.  The  long  diameter  is  two  inches 
five  lines,  and  the  short  diameter  one  inch  eleven  lines.'  There  is  within 
the  eg%  a  yolk  and  a  white,  as  in  the  eggs  of  birds;  and  *  if  broken  into 
a  bowl,'  says  Dr.  Drummond>  *  no  eye  could  perceive  the  difference.' 

^  The  young  crocodile,  like  the  gosling,  takes  to  the  first  water  it  can 
find ;  but^  instead  of  living  like  the  fowl,  on  plain  vegetable  diet,  it  preys 
upon  every  living  thing  which  it  can  master  and  devour.  Though  the 
crocodile's  e^^  also,  as  we  have  just  seen  from  Lacepede,  is  similar  in 
size  to  that  of  the  goose  Tsome  are  said  by  M.  Bory  de  St.  Vincent  to  be 
twice  as  large)  the  crocoaile  hatched  from  it  often  grows  five  times  the 
length  of  a  man,  with  a  body  as  thick  as  that  of  a  horse,  and  consequently 
many  times  the  size  of  any  of  the  birds  produced  fix>m  the  other  four 
eggs."— pp.  41— 44. 

Now  can  any  one  not  viciously  prejudiced  beKeve,  that  since  the 
eggs  of  the  same  animal  unifiormly  produce  the  exact  same  creatutes, 
that  all  this  is  the  effect  of  chance  ?  As  the  author  says^  it  seems 
unavoidably  to  lead  us  to  Paley*8  conclusion,  that  '*  upon  the  whole, 
after  all  the  schemes  and  struggles  of  a  reluctant  philosophy,  the 
necessary  resort  is  to  a  Deity.  The  marks  of  design  are  too  strong 
to  be  gotten  over.  Design  must  have  had  a  designer;  that  designer 
must  have  been  a  person ;  that  person  is  God." 

There  was,  and  still  is,  a  most  unphilosophical  and  unwarrantable 
doctrine,  that  th^e  ifi  such  a  thing  as  spontaneous  exist^ioe.  And 
how  did  the  error  originate  ?  In  a  way  no  less  inexcusable  than 
dangerous ;  and  that  was,  since  we  did  not  see  how  insects  and  mi«- 
croecopic  animalcules  were  generated,  to  believe  they  were  produced 
by  some  mysterious  chemistry,  that  precluded  the  necessity  of  any 
reference  to  an  intelligent  designer. 

"  The  atheistical  doctrine  of  spontaneous  generation,  so  far  as  it  was 
thought  to  be  supported  upon  the  apparent  reproduction,  without  parents, 
of  microscopic  animalcules,  seems  to  have  received  a  death-blow  from  the 
recent  discoveries  of  M.  Ehrenberg,  of  Berlin.  The  late  Baron  Cuvier, 
previously  a  believer  in  the  spontaneous  generation  of  these  animalcules, 
with  a  candour  worthy  of  his  high  reputation,  avowed  that  Ehrenberg^s 
'discovery  entirely  changes  received  opinions,  and  demolishes  many 
systems.' 

**  All  previous  microscopic  observers  had  been  foiled  in  their  investi- 
gations of  the  interior  structure  of  these  minute  creatures,  by  the  tran- 
sparency, and  consequently  the  apparent  uniformity  of  conformation  in 
them.  M.  Ehrenberg  got  over  this  difficulty  by  colouring  with  indigo 
and  carmine  the  water  where  the  animalcules,  which  he  was  investigating, 
lived.     The  colouring  matter  was  by  these  means  introduced  into  the 


1 76  Aiphabet  of  Natural  Tkeology, 

bodies  of  the  animalcules,  and  thus  rendered  obvious  their  several  organs, 
,  previously  transparent  and  uniform  in  appearance. 

"  By  this  method  not  only  have  the  organs  of  reproduction  been  dis- 
covered in  animalcules  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  but  the  eggs  themselves, 
as  they  lie  in  the  egg-organ  before  laying.  So  far  as  M.  Ehrenberg  has 
been  able  to  ascertain,  each  of  these  animals  is,  like  the  snail  and  the 
leechi  of  both  sexes;  and. in  some  the  eggs  appear,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
grey  flesh-fly,  to  be  hatched  within  the  body  of  the  parent,  and  brought 
forth  alive." — ^p.  54. 

Such  is  a  specimen  of  what  this  little  work  says  on  the  arguments 
for  the  being  of  an  Almighty  God.  The  author  next  takes  up  the 
speculative  arguments  for  and  against  the  doctrines  he  espouses^ 
and  treats,  as  we  think,  properly,  the  exertions  of  the  great  cham- 

Sion  of  a  priori  proo^,  Dr.  Samuel  Clark,  as  little  better  than  a 
isplay  of  metaphysical  ingenuity^  which  never  can  make  any  one 
believe  in  the  existence  and  attributes  of  God,  who  doubted  before 
reading  his  profound,  and  often  unintelligible  work.  But  we  must 
here  refer  to  our  author's  little  book,  for  any  insight  into  those  ab- 
struse discussions,  which  he  has  handled  with  an  unsparing  hand. 

We  now  go  forward  to  the  short  chapters  on  the  Attributes  of 
Deity,  and  here  shall  do  little  more  than  quote  a  few  passages. 

"  The  word  'Attribute,'  as  applied  to  God, means  whatever  is  afiirmed 
or  said  of  God ;  and  consequently  a  great  part  of  the  preceding  pages 
relates  to  this  very  subject;  such,  for  example,  as  the  discussion  on  spiri- 
tuality and  on  wisdom,  or  design  manifested  in  the  works  of  creation; 
both  spirituality  and  wisdom  being  attributes  of  God,  very  generally 
acknowledged.  But  it  will  be  proper  to  enter  more  fully  into  the  con- 
sideration of  the  Divine  Attributes,  the  subject  forming  one  of  the  largest 
branches  of  natural  Theology.  At  the  outset  of  the  discussion,  however, 
let  us  first  endeavour  to  g^ard  against  certain  impressions  and  thoughts 
that  are  apt  to  gain  upon  our  minds  when  directed  to  this  profound  inves- 
tigation, owing  to  the  finite  nature  of  our  capacities,  and  the  inadequacy 
of  human  language  to  speak  of  any  thing,  but  by  referring  ever^  image 
to  sensible  objects,  or  borrowing  from  the  same  source.  God  is  to  us 
incomprehensible;  and  the  man  of  thought  and  devotion  will  always  be 
^rticularly  careful,  either  when  speaking  or  meditating  respecting  his 
Creator,  not  to  allow  himself  to  form  even  a  mental  image  of  him.  For 
such  a  man  knows  that  God  is  not  visible  or  material,  and  can  only  be 
'spoken  of  and  described  by  saying  what  he  is  not,  and  never  by  what  he 
is;  or  at  other  times,  though  most  inadequately,  by  the  use  of  superlative 
words  raised  on  such  positive  terms,  as  are  employed  to  express  the 
highest  excellencies  found  among  men.  God  has  no  equal,  and  to  him, 
therefore,  nothing  can  be  compared.  When  men  think,  they  comprehend, 
argue,  conclude  and  demonstrate  fully  on  such  themes  as  the  being  and 
attributes  of  Deity,  they  deceive  themselves.^  Even  the  pronoun  He^  as 
applied  to  God,  can  only  be  excused  for  want  of  a  better  appellative;  and 
It  will  ever  be  uttered  by  a  man  of  rightly  constituted  principles,  with 
this  conviction  fully  impressed  upon  his  mind.  Let  us  try  the  particular 
term,  *  Infinite,'  which  is  often  applied  to  Deity.  It  is,  mdeed,  only  by 
such  an  adjective  that  we  can  convey  what  we  intend,  either  when  speak- 


AlpMet  6/ NtOural  Theology,  177 

iog  of  his  cxiBtonce  dr  of  any  of  hw  altribut&s.  1%  is  projper,  therefore, 
that  we  have  an  undeiBlanding  of  that  which  we  mean  by  \U  use. 

"  Are  we,  therefore,  under  this  conviction  of  our  inadequacy  to  ^thom 
the  attributes,  the  essential  and  moral  character  of  God,  to  sit  down  in 
despur  and  banish  from  our  contemplations  the  source  of  all  greatness, 
wisdom,  and  goodness?  By  no  means;  f6r  as  regards  our  Creator,  there 
is  a  field  for  inTestigation,  ample  and  fertile  enough,  on  which  the  richest 
mind  may  expatiate,  with  endless  profit  to  himself.  EVen  the  simplest 
and  most  unlettered  at  once  detects  numberless  facts  that  lead  to  the 
loftiest  and  most  instructive  conclusions.  So  that  while  God,  as  r^ards 
botb  his  being  and  attributes,  is  incomprehensible  by  man,  yet  these 
things  are  capable  of  being  demonstrated  to  man:  for  'the  invisible 
things  of  Him,  from  the  creation  of  the  world,  are  clearly  seen,  being 
understood  by  the  things  that  are  made,  even  his  eternal  power  and  God- 
head/ It  is  still  true  that  we  can  form  no  direct  conception  whatever  of 
infinity;  but  it  i9  plain,  that  a  belief  in  the  existence  of  an  intelligent  and 
supreme  first  cause  implies  that  he  is  self-existent,  which  necessarily  leads 
to  a  conviction  of  his  eternity,  and  indeed  of  his  infinity  in  respect  of  every 
attribute,  as  much  as  of  his  duration.  Infinity  of  duration  or  eternity 
cannot  be  comprehended  by  us,  but  in  this  way  it  is  capable  of  being 
metaphysically  proved.  Moreover,  this  can  be  done,  it  can  satisfactorily 
be  made  out,  that  God  is  not  finite  in  respect  of  any  one  attribute,  but  sur- 
passes all  conceivable  perfection,  as  every  one  who  turns  his  thoughts  to 
the  subject  will  perceive. 

^*  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  power  displayed  in  the  act  of  creating,  not 
only  exceeds  all  finite  comprehension,  but  is  plainly  so  great  as  to  exclude 
every  rational  limitation;  and  when  coniemplating  such  power,  no  wise 
man  ever  attempts  or  pretends  to  form  any  estimate  of  its  extent,  but  is 
lost  and  candidly  calls  it  infinite.  For  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  suppose 
that  such  a  power  cannot  do  any  thing,  and  every  thing,  which  does  not 
involve  a  contradiction. 

**  It  is  also  to  be  borne  in  mind,  that  man  is  naturally  fitted,  by  the  very 
constitution  of  his  mind,  for  acquiring  certain  notions  concerning  the 
existence  of  Invisible  and  superior  beings ;  concerning  their  attributes 
and  their  influence  on  human  life.  Consciousness  and  feeling  give  a  man 
a  conviction,  that  there  is  something  within  himself  of  a  higher  order  than 
the  matter  of  which  his  body  is  composed ;  something  which  cannot  be 
seen,  because  it  is  not  material,  and  which  he  calls  spirit,  the  very  word 
used  when  we  would  describe  what  is  termed  the  essence  of  Grod.  Man 
infers  the  existence,  powers,,  and  character  of  this  unseen  something  from 
its  effects*  He  concludes  the  same  thing  of  the  spirits  or  minds  of  other 
men;  and  in  like  manner  this  very  same  thing  is  also  concluded  of  God. 
The  terms  Infinity,  eternity,  and  spirituality,  may  be  dark,  or  when  we 
are  driven  to  affix  a  meaning  to  them,  may  be  admitted  to  be  unintelli- 
gible, but  the  character  of  one  intelligent  being  is  susceptible  of  evidence 
from  experience  by  another  intelligent  being,  between  whom  certain 
relations  exist ;  especially  the  Intelligence  who  made  man's  mind  is  an 
object  suited  to  the  inquiry  of  tha^  mind.  There  may  be  a  moral  evidence, 
accompanied  by  as  strong  and  firm  a  conviction  of  the  mind  as  any  mathe- 
matical demonstration  ever  was.  No  man  can  feel  himself  more  certain 
that  a  part  is  not  equal  to  the  whole,  than  that  he  was  alive  yesterday. 

VOL.  in.  (1834.)  NO.  ic.  o 


178  Alphabet  of  Natural  Theology. 

Indeed  this  moral  conviction  is  as  much  stronger  than  many  founded  on 
scientific  demonstration,  as  a  yast  excess  of  evidence  can  produce." — 
pp.  92—98. 

One  other  extract  must  brinff  us  to  a  close ;  it  comes  within  the 
discussion  of  the  proo6  of  Goa's  benevolence. 

**  It  is  asked,  if  there  be  an  intelligent  and  henevolent  Creator  of  all 
things,  how  comes  evil  to  exist  in  the  world  ?  This  has  been  attempted 
to  be  explained  in  three  different  ways.  Some  say,  God  could  not  prevent 
men  from  sinning.  To  this  I  answer,  the  assertion  cannot  be  proved. 
There  may  be  orders  of  beings  among  whom  sin  never  entered ;  and  if 
He  prevented  it  among  such,  how  do  we  know  it  could  not  be  universally 
prevented  ?  Others  maintain,  that  God  creates,  by  an  immediate  agency 
of  his  own,  the  sinful  volitions  of  mankind.  Now  this  is  one  of  the  most 
distressing  and  frightful  conclusions  our  minds  can  form,  and,  until 
proved,  must  not  be  admitted. 

'*  The  metaphysical  nature  of  laonX  agency,  both  in  God  and  bis  crea- 
tures, is  a  subject  as  difficult  and  subtle  as  any  in  the  whole  course  of 
human  investigation.  But  to  come  to  the  point:  the  existence  of  evil 
does  not  establish  to  my  conviction  that  God  is  its  efficient  cause;  though 
I  do  not  see  why  He  might  not  with  perfect  benevolence  create  such 
moral  beings,  as,  left  to  their  own  free  agency,  yielded  to  temptations  and 
sin.  Temptations  seem  necessarily  to  exist  in  an  abundance  of  good. 
The  good,  for  instance,  which  belongs  to  others  may  be  coveted;  nor  do 
I  see  that  God,  by  his  moral  peifections,  is  to  prevent  evil  originating  in 
this  way. 

*'  A  third  class  argue,  and  as  it  appears  more  soundly,  that  God  only 
permits  sin  to  exist.  There  certainly  is  a  wide  difference  between  per- 
mitting or  not  hindering,  and  creating.  In  the  former  case,  he  is  sup- 
posed to  create  beings  possessed  of  the  full  power  to  originate  any  moitd 
action,  in  the  latter  he  created  their  apostacy.  Now  it  seems  as  easy  to 
understand  that  man  is  an  agent,  as  that  God  is  an  agent.  If  so,  where 
is  the  necessity  for  going  beyond  man  for  the  origin  of  his  actions  ?  But 
it  may  be  urged,  that  a  peifectly  benevolent  Creator  cannot  fail  to  act 
so  as  to  produce  the  greatest  good.  Can  it  be  proved,  that  the  greatest 
possible  good  will  not  be  found  in  a  system  where  evil  has  had  an  en- 
trance. Not  knowing  the  progress  and  the  end  of  evil,  of  the  minds  that 
are  subject  to  it,  nor  of  any  one  thing,  we  cannot  tell  what  may  produce 
the  greatest  good  to  the  intelligent  world ;  nor  how  far  the  sinfulness 
and  punishments  of  some  moral  agents  may  go  to  the  standing  and  the 
enjoyment  of  the  great  body. 

"The  restless  and  inquisive  mind  still  asks  why  did  God  suffer  such  a 
distressing  thing  as  sin  to  exist  ?  It  is  answered,  that  it  is  more  than 
probable,  that  the  present  is  but  a  state  of  trial,  and  not  the  whole  of 
man's  existence.  Now  a  state  of  trial  supposes  a  capability  of  erring, 
and  cannot  be  without  it.  Where  is  there  any  ground  for  maintaining 
that  a  benevolent  God  is  obliged  to  prevent  it  ?  If  free  agents  are  re- 
warded for  obedience  with  happiness,  as  long  as  they  are  obedient, 
•perfect  goodne^  can  ask  or  give  no  more ;  and  that  benevolence  may 
propose  such  a  reward,  appears  a  natural  dictate  of  reason.  It  appears, 
.therefore,  that  whilst  there  is  no  complete  argument  against  God's  being 
possessed  of  this  attribute,  gathered  from  the  existence  of  evil,  there  are 


Alphabet  of  Natural  Theology.  1 79 

many  direct  proofs  even  hero,  in  behalf  of  the  doctrine  urged.  For, 
marie,  how  many  blessings  are  bestowed  on  sinful  beings ;  the  highest 
-exercise  of  benevolence  we  can  imagine.  Nay,  the  best  men  are  those, 
of  aU  others,  that  most  fully  and  cordially  acknowledge  their  unworthi- 
ness.     Infants,  it  may  be  objected,  suffer  beyond  their  deserts.     Here 

r'n  is  an  assertion  without  any  proofs.  We  know  not  the  moral  state 
mind  with  which  we  can  hold  no  communication.  Whilst  one  thing 
is  manifest,  that  every  child,  the  instant  its  moral  feelings  are  under- 
stood, proves  itself  to  be  sinful. 

^'  May  not  the  truth  be,  that  evil  is  a  necessary  part  of  the  most  bene- 
volent system  of  dispensation  towards  moral  beings?  As  things  are 
constituted,  many  things  we  call  evils  in  this  life  are  absolutely  necessary. 
What  causes  corruption  and  death,  is,  in  many  cases,  the  means  or  the 
avenues  of  life  and  death.  Pain  and  sickness  are  often'  the  beacons  that 
guard  us  from  destruction.     Good  men  universallv  acknowledge  that  | 

their  afflictions  are  conducive  to  their  welfare.  Ana  were  we  careful  to 
separate  the  evils  caused  directly  by  God  from  those  produced  by  man, 
we  should  be  astonished  at  the  smallness  of  the  number  chargeable 
against  the  former.  Man,  probably,  either  originates  or  increases  every 
evil  of  this  life.  The  truth  appears  strikingly  to  stand  thus :  that  so 
long  as  we  are  confined  to  the  light  of  nature  and  reason  only,  we  are  in 
such  uncertainty  as  to  the  future  existence  and  state  of  the  thinking  sen> 
tient  principle  of  man,  that  we  cannot  come  to  a  full  understanding  on 
this  matter,  neither  perhaps  are  our  minds,  as  at  present  constituted, 
capable  of  entertaining  all  the  bearings  of  the  truth  on  this  subject: — 
for,  surely,  there  may  be  truths  we  cannot  grasp.  But  still  to  me  it  is 
clear,  that  whilst  no  solid  argument  can  be  found,  even  from  the  exis- 
tence of  evil,  by  which  we  can  be  led  to  doubt  or  impugn  the  benevolence 
of  Deity,  there  are  many  and  cogent  ones  that  go  directly  to  establish 
the  attribute  in  a  way  highly  consolatory, — ;!  would  add,  beautiful;  and 
when  His  justice  and  truth  are  considered,  we  shall  more  fully  behold 
how  venersJ}le  and  awful  His  goodness  becomes." — ^pp.  109 — 112. 

We  think  it  is  not  the  least  recommendation  of  this  little  work, 
that  it  leads  the  inquirer  to  revelation  as  the  only  sure  and  complete 
Booroe  of  a  knowledge  of  God:  for,  while  the  author  has  brought 
together  a  vast  deal  of  information,  hitherto  scattered  over  many 
volmnes,  brides  throwing  out  .many  ingenious  views  from  his  own 
stores^  we  are  uniformly  directed  by  him  to  observe  how  uncertain 
and  short  our  unassisted  reason  must  ever  continue  in  tihs  field. 
Were  his  reasonings  unsound  in  themselves,  there  could  little  injury 
ensue  frora  them,  since  he  constantly  states,  that  whatever  may  be 
his  speculations,  the  inquirer  must  think  for  himself,  and  alone  can 
find  the  whole  truth  in  that  book  that  contains  the  Gospel.  But 
this  Alphabet  deserves  much  better  than  a  negative  approval ;  for 
its  contents  are  as  valuable  as  the  attempt  is  novel,  or  as  the  labour 
must  have  b^n  great  in  its  execution.  We  heartily  recommend  it 
to  banners  in  the  study  of  Theology ;  nor  will  the  weU-informed 
rise  from  its  perusal  without  benefit. 


o2 


n 


180 

AaT.  IV.— TA^  Principles  of  Physiology  ppplied  to  the  PreservaHon  of 
Healthy  ami  to  the  Imprwement  of  Physical  and  Mental  EdueaHon, 
By  Andrew  Combe,  M.  D.,  F.  R.  CoU.  Bdin.     London:   Longman 
and  Go.    1634. 

Perhaps  it  is  sometimes  to  be  charged  against  us^  that  out  of  a 
mass  of  new  works,  which  usually  loads  our  table,  the  larger  tomes 
are  first  taken  up,  in  preference  to  the  smaller.  This  intimates  that 
we  are  not  unmoved  by  the  mere  pretensions,  too  often  however 
false,  that  prevail  in  the  world.  It  is  yet  not  an  unnatural  thing  to 
suppose  that  size  should,  to  a  certain  degree,  indicate  the  amount 
of  sense  contained  in  a  book ;  but  the  presumpti<xi  is  frequently 
severely  chastised,  nor  has  it  fiedlen  to  our  lot  to  find  the  lesson  ^ 
reproof  mare  signally  enforced,  thon  by  Dr.  Combe's  seven  shilling 
volume,  now  before  us.  We  take  blame  to  ourselves  for  not,  at  on 
earlier  date,  having  lent  our  aid  to  spread  its  ccmtaits  and  worth 
among  our  readers ;  and  indeed  regret  that  we  should  have  so  laag 
denied  ourselves  the  instruction  with  whieh  every  page  of  the  worK 
abounds.  There  is  one  consolation,  however,  in  our  delay,  that 
now  we  have  a  second  edition  of  the  book  corrected  and  enlarged ; 
the  last  chapter  on  a  subject  of  the  greatest  importance,  being  en- 
tirely new. 

We  shall  have  occasion  as  we  go  carefully  through  the  volume 
to  present  our  readers  with  many  striking  facta  and  doctrines.  In 
the  mean-while  we  may  mention  some  of  the  principal  features  of 
the  performance,  that  we  may  be  the  more  fully  understood  in 
what  follows. 

Physiology,  according  to  its  etymological  import,  signifies  a  dis- 
course on  nature ;  but  it  is  usually  employed  in  a  more  limited  sense, 
to  denote  the  science  which  treats  of  uie  powers  that  actuate  the 
component  parts  of  living  animal  bodies,  and  <rf  the  fimctions  which 
those  bodies  execute.  It  presui^K)ses,  therefore,  a  knowledge  of 
the  structure  of  the  body,  which  is  the  object  of  anatomy ;  and  this 
is  conversant  with  the  dead,  whilst  the  other  is  conversant  with  the 
living  body.  The  one  may  therefore  be  called  the  science  of  or- 
ganization, the  other  of  life.  The  general  source  of  our  physiologi- 
cal knowledge  of  the  human  body  is  an  observation  of  its  actions  in 
all  the  various  states  compreh^ided  under  the  t^ms  hecUth  and 
disease.  The  science  requires  a  comparison  to  be  made  of  the 
structure  and  fonctions  of  animals  in  all  classes  of  the  animal  king- 
dom. At  the  same  time  a  knowledge  c^  chemistry  is  indispensable 
to  the  physiologist,  in  unfolding  the  structure  of  the  body,  as  for 
instance,  in  the  subjects  of  respiraticm,  perspiration,  and  the  se- 
cretions. 

Physiology,  in  the  sense  we  are  limiting  it  to,  is  still  an  imperfect 
science,  especially  as  regards  the  internal  actions  and  functions  of 
the  human  body.  Although  comparative  anatomy,  and  many  cruel 
experiments  upon  the  lower  animals,  have  enlarged  our  knowledge 


The  Principles  of  Phymloffy.  181 

iar  bevond  what  the  access  had  to  the  human  frame  could  lead  to. 
Yet  what  seems  inexcusable — the  knowledge  that  is  possessed  of 
the  science  has  never  in  this  country  been  systematically  applied^ 
in  our  great  public  schools  of  medicine^  as  the  proper  basis^  not  only 
of  a  sound  physical,  but  of  a  sound  moral  and  intellectual  education. 
*'  The  practical  importance,"  says  Dr.  Combe,  "  of  physiological 
knowledge  in  the  training  and  education  of  the  young  has  been  over- 
looked chiefly,  I  think,  from  the  unnatural  separation  of  the  difier- 
ent  branches  of  medical  science  from  each  other  by  its  cultivators 
and  teachers,  and  the  excessive  devotion  of  each  to  his  own  favourite 
department.  The  anatomist,  for  example,  teaches  structure  and 
structure  only,  and  refers  to  the  physiologist  for  an  lu^count  of  the 
uses  to  which  it  is  subservient ;  and  the  physiologist,  on  the  other 
hand,  expounds  functions,  but  scarcely  touches  upon  the  instruments 
by  which  they  are  executed."  "  They  err,  in  short,  in  limiting 
themselves  too  exclusively  to  theiif  own  particular  pursuits,  and  de- 
voting too  little  attention  to  the  relations  which  these  bear  to  each 
other,  and  the  great  unit,  the  living  being,  of  which  they  form  a 

Ert."  The  young  practitioner  has,  therefore,  to  work  out  his  own 
owledge  in  this  department,  and  after  many  errors  it  may  be, 
because  it  was  not  a  prominent  feature  in  his  elementary  education. 
He  has  not  been  made  sufficiently  familiar  with  the  conditions  on 
which  the  healthy  action  of  the  animal  economy  depends,  and  is  more 
skiUed  in  the  means  of  recovery  than  oi preservation.  Dr.  Combe 
has,  however,  besides  throwing  much  light  on  the  subject,  shed  it 
in  such  a  manner,  that  it  must  lead  to  other  exertions  in  the  same 
tine,  and,  ere  long,  to  rescue  it  from  the  uncertain  and  unsystematic 
acquirements  of  individuals.  The  talent  and  ingenuity  displayed 
bv  him  are  not  more  conspicuous,  than  is  the  sound  sense  of  his 
views,  or  the  plain  manner  in  which  they  are  unfolded.  Beyond 
these  things,  the  fine  feeling,  the  humane  purposes,  the  religious 
spirit  of  the  whole  volume,  lend  to  it  a  charm,  which  must  carry 
it  into  many  a  family,  and  render  it  a  favourite  with  every  class  of 
society. 

Many  people  question,  and  we  think  justly,  the  uses  of  popular 
works  on  medicine  and  disease ;  because  in  unprofessional  hands 
they  do  a  great  deal  more  injury  than  good.  But  the  tendency  of 
Dr.  Combe's  treatise  is  totally  different  from  those  we  have  in  our 
eye ;  and  were  it  to  take  the  place  of  Buchan's  Domestic  Medi- 
cine ha  every  house  in  the  land,  we  are  fully  persuaded  the  exchange 
would  be  of  a  vast  and  immediate  benefit  to  the  community.  Me- 
dicinal art  has  a  double  scope :  that  of  the  preservation  of  the  sound, 
and  the  restoration  of  the  sick.  To  the  healthy  it  offers  a  continu- 
ance of  health,  to  the  sick  it  holds  out  recovery ;  nor  does  it  rejoice 
less  in  nature's  prosperity,  than  it  is  subsidiary  in  her  adversity. 
Our  author  directs  himself  in  a  popular  way  to  the  former,  and  cer- 
tainly the  most^  effectual  branch.  Instead  of  attempting  to  instruct 
every  plain  unprofessional  man  how  to  doctor  himself  when  under 


182  THe  Principles  of  Phytiolagy. 

disease^  he  shows  iu  the  most  winning  manner  how  every  man  may 
provide  against  disease,  and  the  frequent  use  of  any  doctor.  And 
not  by  any  charm,  nostrum,  or  quacKery,  but  on  the  most  rational 
and  apparent  grounds.  Neither  does  our  author,  although  related 
by  the  ties  of  blood  to  a  celebrated  Phrenologist  of  the  same  name, 
introduce  any  doctrine  regarding  the  functions  of  any  part  of  the 
body,  inconsistent  with  what  the  most  eminent  Anatomists  and 
Physiologists  in  past  or  present  times  have  taught. 

Dr.  Combe  wdl  declares,  that  the  all-wise  Creator  has  established 
organic  laws,  the  observance  of  which  is  as  indispensable  to  long 
life  and  sound  bodily  health,  as  the  observance  of  moral  laws  is  to 
the  rewards  of  virtue.  As  an  old  author  quaintly  observes, ''  this 
body  being  in  a  continual  flux  and  reflux,  conversant  in  vicissitudes, 
as  heat  and  cold,  dryness  and  humidity,  filling  and  emptying,  rest 
and  motion,  sleeping  and  waking,  inspiration  and  expu*ation,  and 
the  like,  could  not  subsist,  if  they  were  not  regulated  by  order  of 
succession,  to  convenient  times,  that  they  may  not  encroach  upon 
each  other's  privileges.**  There  is  a  rule,  therefore,  proportion, 
measure,  and  season  to  be  observed,  in  all  the  requisites,  supports' 
and  helps  belonging  to  our  preservation.  The  thwarting  and  cross- 
ing of  Nature  in  any  thing  she  hath  enjoined,  either  in  the  substance 
or  circumstance,  is  violence  offered  to  her.  She  not  only  commands 
what  is  to  be  done,  but  when,  how  much,  how  long,  after  what 
manner,  and  in  what  order — the  modifications,  circumstances,  and 
requisite  qualifications,  as  well  as  the  thing  itself,  are  to  be  re- 
garded.*' And  now  all  this  parade  and  precision,  displayed  by  the 
old  Physician  quoted,  will  be  found  amply  observed  and  fulfilled  in 
the  treatise  before  us,  to  which  we  proceed  with  pleasure  and  hope. 

This  edition  of  Dr.  Combe*s  work  on  the  Principles  of  Physiology, 
applied  to  the  Preservation  of  Health,  and  the  Improvement  of  Phy- 
sical and  Mental  Education,  contains  ten  chapters.  The  first  is  intro- 
ductory, and  is  devoted  to  a  definition  of  the  term  Physiology,  to  a 
description  of  its  objects,  uses,  and  capabilities,  as  well  as  several 
other  general  matters,  all  bearing  on  the  succeeding  parts.  He  goes 
to  tell  us,  that,  in  selecting  the  subjects  for  the  following  chapters, 
he  shall  be  guided  partly  by  the  intrinsic  importance  of  the  fimctions 
treated  of,  to  the  well-Deing  of  the  animal  economy,  and  partly  by 
the  comparative  ignorance  which  prevails  in  regard  to  them.  That 
hitherto  the  digestive  functions  have  been  the  prominent  topic  of 
popular  disquisitions,  but  that  there  are  other  organs  of  nearly  equal 
interest,  which  have  been  much  less  attended  to,  than  they  deserve ; 
such  as  the  skin,  the  muscles,  the  bon&s,  the  lungs,  and  the  nervous 
system.  He  accordingly  devotes  the  second  chapter  to  the  struc- 
ture and  functions  of  the  skin,  and  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  highly 
curious  and  instructive,  as  our  readers  shall  immediately  learn. 

•*The  structure  of  the  skin,  like  that  of  every  other  part  of  the  animal  frame, 
displays  the  most  striking  proofs  of  the  tiansccudant  wisdom  and  bcnefi- 
cence  of  its  great  Creator,  lliough  simple  iu  appearance  and  in  design. 


The  Principles  of  Physiology,  183 

it  IB  a  compound  of  many  elements,  and  the  seat  of  aa  great  a  variety  of 
lonctaons.  Il  is  composed  of  three  layers  of  membrane,  viz.  the  thin 
ecarf'skin  or  cuticle,  the  mucous  coat,  and  the  thick  true  skin,  as  it  is  called, 
which  immediately  encompasses  the  body.  These  distinctions  should  be 
kept  in  view,  for,  as  it  is  a  general  law  of  the  animal  economy  that  every 
part  has  a  use  or  function  peculiar  to  itself,  the  various  uses  of  the  com- 
pound can  be  understood  only  by  attending  to  &ose  of  the  simple  ele- 
ments. 

*'  The  epidennis,  cuticle  or  ^carf-skin,  is  the  outermost  of  the  three  layers, 
and  is  that  which  is  raised  ia  blisters.  It  is  a  thin  continuous  and  insen- 
sible membrane,  has  no  perceptible  blood-vessels  or  nerves,  and  conse- 
quently neidier  bleeds  nor  feels  pain  when  cut  or  abraded.  Being  homo- 
geneous in  structure,  it  is  suppcwed  by  many  to  be  merely  an  exudation 
of  albuminous  mucus;  and  although  depressions  are  obvious  on  its  sur- 
face, and  exhalations  and  absorption  are  proved  to  be  carried  on  through 
its  substance,  it  is  still  in  dispute  whedier  it  be  actually  porous  or  not. 
Probability  is  in  favour  of  the  affirmative,  and  the  circumstance  of  the 
pores  not  being  visible,  is  no  proof  of  the  contrary,  for  the  cuticle  is  so 
elastic  that  it  may  be  perforated  by  a  needle,  and  yet  the  hole  not  be  dis- 
cernible even  under  the  microscope.  The  question  is,  however,  one  of  little 
moment,  provided  it  be  remembered  that  its  texture,  whether  perforated 
or  not,  is  such  as  to  admit  of  exhalation  and  absorption  talang  place 
through  its  substance. 

^  The  structure  of  the  cuticle  is  in  admirable  harmony  with  its  uses. 
Placed  as  an  insensible  intermedium  between  external  objects  and  the 
delicate  nervous  expansion  on  the  surface  of  the  subjacent  true  skin,  it 
sdWes  as  a  physical  defence  against  friction;  and  while  by  impeding  eva- 
poration, it  preserves  the  true  skin  in  that  soft  and  moist  state  which  is 
essential  to  its  utility,  it  also  by  impeding  absorption,  enables  man  to  ex- 
pose himself  without  injury  to  the  action  of  numerous  agents,  which,  but 
for  its  protection,  would  immediately  be  absorbed,  and  cause  the  speedy 
destruction  of  health  and  life."  pp.41 — 43. 

Were  this  external  coat  wanting^  workmen  exposed  to  an  at* 
mosphere  loaded  with  metallic  or  poisonous  vapours,  or  obliged  to 
handle  poisonous  substances,  would  be  subjected  to  destructive  evils. 
It  is  a  striking  manifestation  of  divine  goodness  and  power,  that 
even  at  birth  there  is  a  greater  thickness  of  the  cuticle  in  such  parts 
as  are  to  be  exposed  to  pressure  or  friction,  than  in  those  that  are 
not  so  exposed. 

Beneath  the  scarf-skin  is  the  mucovs  coat  or  net  work,  which 
is  remarkable  chiefly  as  the  seat  of  the  colouring  matter  of  the 
skin,  for  instance,  in  the  skins  of  many  fishes  and  other  animals, 
it  has  often  a  high  and  almost  metallic  splendour.  But,  in  the 
human  race  it  is  seen  with  difiiculty  on  dissection,  except  in  ne- 
groes. 

"The  third  or  inmost  layer,  called  the  true  skin,  dermis,  or  corion,  con- 
stitutes the  chief  thickness  of  the  skin,  and  is  by  far  the  most  impor- 
tant of  the  three,  both  in  structure  and  functions.  Unlike  the  cuticle  and 
mucous  coat,  which  are  homogeneous  in  their  whole  extent,  and  appa- 
rently without  organization,  the  true  skin,  or  simply,  as  we  shall  call  it 
for  brevity's  sake,  the  skiuy  is  very  delicately  organized,  and  endowed  with 


184  Tike  Principles  of  PJ^mhgy. 

tbe  princij^  of  life  in  a  rerj  high  degree.  Not  only  is  it  the  boMttifiil  and 
ef&eacious  protector  of  the  sabjacent  BtructureB,  but  it  is  the  seat  of  sen- 
sation and  of  touch,  and  the  instrument  of  a  very  important  exhalation, 
VIZ.  perspiration,  die  right  condition  or  disturbance  of  which  is  a  most 
pow^rfvd  agoit  in  the  preservation  or  subversion '  of  the  genertd  health. 
The  dermis  is  a  dense,  firm,  and  resistant  tissue,  possessed  of  great  exten- 
sibilitjr  and  elasticitj,  and  of  a  colour  more  or  less  red  in  proportion  to 
the  qhantity  of  blood  it  receives  and  contains.  Its  looser  internal  sur- 
fisoe,  which  is  united  to  tiie  cellular  membrane  in  which  the  fat  is  de- 
ported, presents  a  great  number  of  cells  or  cavities,  which  penetrate 
oUiqueiy  into  the  substance,  and  towards  the  external  surface,  of  the  skin, 
and  also  contain  fatty  matter.  The  areolas  or  cells  are  larger  on  some 
parts  of  the  body  than  on  others :  they  are  very  ismall  on  the  back  of  the 
hand  and  foot,  die  forehead,  and  other  places  where  fat  is  never  deposited 
and  the  skin  is  very  thin;  while  they  are  large  in  the  palm  of  the  band 
and  sole  of  the  foot,  idiere  the  skin  is  consequently  thicker  and  fat 
abounds.  These  cells  are  traversed  by  innumerable  blood-vessels  and  fila- 
ment  of  nerves,  which  pass  through  to  be  ramified  on  the  outer  surface  of 
die  skin,  where  they  shew  themselves  in  the  form  of  numerote  small 
papilte  or  points,  wMch  are  very  visible  on  the  surface  of  the  tongue, 
and  on  the  fingers  and  palm  of  the  hand.  Hieee  papiihe  constitute  the 
true  organs  of  touch  and  sensation,  and  are  therefore  most  thiekly  planted 
where  diese  senses  are  most  acute,  the  true  skin  is  so  abundandy  supfdied 
with  Ulood  and  nervous  power,  that,  for  practical  purposes,  it  may  almost 
be  regarded  as  composed  of  vessels  and  nerves  alone  ;  and  it  is  important 
to  notice  this  fact.  The  universal  and  equal  redness  of  the  skin  in  i^ush- 
lag,  is  itself  a  proof  of  great  vascularity;  but  a  still  stronger  consists  in 
our  being  unable  to  direct  die  point  of  the  finest  needle  into  any  spot 
without  puncturing  a  vessel  and  drawing  blood.  Hie  same  test  proves 
the  equal  abundance  of  nervous  filaments  in  tbe  skin,  for  not  b.  point  can 
be  punctured  without  transfixing  a  nerve  and  causing  pain;  and  it  is 
well  known  that,  in  surgical  operations  and  accidented  wounds,  the  chief 
pain  is  always  in  the  skin,  because  it  is  profusely  supplied  with  nerves 
of  sensation  on  purpose  to  serve  as  the  instrument  of  feeling.  From  diese 
examples,  the  skin  may  be  truly  considered  as  a  network  of  blood-vessels 
and  nerves  of  the  finest  conceivable  texture ;  and,  taking  the  vast  extent 
of  its  whole  surface  (estimated  to  exceed  in  a  man  of  average  size  2,500 
square  inches)  into  account,  we  can  easily  understand  how  these  minute 
ramifications  may  really  constitute  a  larger  mass  of  nervous  matter  than 
is  contained  in  the  original  trunks  of  the  nen^es  from  which  they  are  in- 
correcdy  said  to  arise,  and  also  how  so  large  a  proportion  of  the  whole 
blood  may  be  circulating  through  the  skin  at  one  tim«. 

"To  understand  the  impoitant  purposes  of  the  true  skin,  we  must  distin- 
guish between  its  constituent  parts,  and  consider  it,  in  virtue  of  each  of 
tiiem,<«-l^.  As  an  exhalant  of  waste  matter  from  the  system;  2(ffy,  As  a 
joint  regulator  of  the  heat  of  the  body ;  Sdly,  As  an  agent  of  absorption ; 
and  4thly,  As  the  seat  of  sensation  and  touch." — ^pp.46 — 48. 

Tbe  whole  animal  system  is  in  a  state  of  constant  decay  and  re- 
BbOvatioD,  and  the  skin  focms  one  of  the  principal  outlets^  not  merely 
by  Menstble  perspiration,  but  by  that  which  is  insen$ible,  and  to  an 
extent  which  few  are  aware  of.     This  inseosible  escape  of  useless 


The  Prmciples  of  Phynology.  185 

partidefl,  no  bnger  semdeable  to  fhe  eyatem  is  constant^  and  of 
gieat  importonce  to  the  preservation  of  healt^^ 

"  Many  attempts  have  been  made  to  estimate  accurately  the  amount  of 
exhalation  carried  off  through  the  skin;  but  so  many  difficulties  stiiid  in 
the  ^iray  of  obtaining  precise  results,  and  the  difference  in  different  con- 
stitutions and  even  in  the  same  person  at  different  times  is  so  great»  that 
we  must  be  satisfied  with  an  approximation  to  the  truth.  Sanotorius,  who 
carefully  weighed  himself,  his  food,  and  his  excretions,  in  a  balance, 
every  day  for  thirty  years,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Jive  out  of  every 
eight  pounds  of  substances  taken  into  the  system  passed  out  of  it  again 
by  the  skin,  leaving  only  three  to  pass  off  by  the  bowels,  the  lungs,  and 
the  kidneys.  The  celebrated  Lavoisier  and  M.  Seguin  afterwards  entered 
on  the  same  field  of  inquiry,  and  with  greater  success,  as  they  were  the 
first  to  distinguish  between  the  cutaneous  and  pulmonary  exhalations. 
M.  Seguin  shut  himself  up  in  a  bag  of  glazed  taffetas,  which  was  tied  over 
his  head  and  provided  with  a  hole,  the  edges  of  which  were  glued  to  his 
lips  with  a  mixture  of  turpentine  and  pitch,  so  that  the  pulmonary  ex- 
halation might  be  thrown  outwards,  and  the  cutanecms  alone  be  retained 
in  the  bag.  He  first  weighed  himself  and  the  bag  in  a  very  nice  balance, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  experiment;  then  at  the  end  of  it,  when  he  had 
become  Gghter  in  proportion  to  the  quantity  of  exhalation  thrown  out 
by  the  breathing ;  and,  lastly,  he  weighed  himself  out  of  the  bag,  to  as- 
certain how  much  weight  he  had  lost  in  all;  and  by  subtracting  the 
loss  occasioned  by  the  lungs,  the  remainder  of  course  exhibited  the  amount 
carried  off  by  the  sldn.  He  attended  minutely  also  to  the  cpUateral  dr- 
cumatances  of  diet,  temperature,  &c. ;  and  allowance  being  made  for  these, 
the  results  at  which  he  arrived  were  the  following : — 

"The  largest  quantity  of  insensible  perspiration  from  the  hings  and  skin 
together,  amounted  to  thirty-two  grains  per  minute;  three  ounces  and  a 
quarter  per  hour;  or,  five  pounds  per  day.  Of  this  the  cutaneous  consti- 
tuted two-thirds,  or  sixty  ounces  in  twenty-four  liours.  The  mnaUett 
quantity  observed,  amounted  to  eleven  grains  per  minute,  or  one  pound 
eleren  and  a  half  ounces  in  twenty-four  hours,  of  which  the  skin  furmshed 
aboat  twenty  ounces.  The  mediwn  or  average  amount  was  eighteen 
grains  a  minute,  of  which  eleven  were  from  the  skin,  making  in  twenty- 
foor  hours  about  thirty-three  ounces.  "When  the  extent  ol  surface 
which  the  sldn  presents  is  considered,  these  results  do  not  seem  extrava- 
gant. But  even  admitting  that  there  may  be  some  unperceived  souroe 
of  Mlacy  in  the  experiments,  and  that  the  quantity  is  not  so  great  as  is 
here  stated,  still,  alter  making  every  allowance,  enough  remains  to  de- 
monstrate that  exhalation  is  a  very  important  function  of  tiie  skin.  And 
although  the  precise  amount  of  perspiration  may  be  disputed,  still  the 
greats  number  of  obse^ers  agree  that  the  cutaneous  exhalation  is  more 
abundant  than  the  united  excretions  of  both  bowels  and  kidneys  2  and 
that  according  as  the  weather  becomes  warmer  or  colder,  the  skin  and 
kidneys  alternate  in  the  proportions  of  work  which  they  severally  perform; 
moat  passing  off  by  the  skin  in  warm  weather,  and  by  the  kidneys  in 
cold,  and  vice  versd.  The  quantity  exhaled  increases  after  meals,  during 
sleep,  in  dry  warm  weather,  and  by  ftiction,  or  whatever  stimulates  the 
skill ;  and  ^minishes  when  digestion  is  impaired,  and  in  a  moist  atmo- 
sphere."— ipp,  49 — 51 . 


186  The  Principles  of  PhjfMU^.' 

Insensible  perspiratim  is  only  included  in  this ; — and,  thereCotc^ 
when  we  consider  that  a  robust  man ,  according  to  our  author,  may 
lose  by  that  which  is  sensible ^  two  or  three  pounds'  weight  in  the 
course  of  one  hour's  severe  exertion,  we  perceive  what  an  importa&t 
organ  the  skin  is,  and  how  much  the  health  may  be  aflbcted 
through  it,  by  heat  or  cold,  dryness  or  humidity. 

"  When  the  lungs  are  the  weak  parts,  and  their  lining  membrane  is 
habitually  relaxed,  accompanied  by  an  unusual  amount  of  mucous  secre- 
tion from  its  surface,  cold  applied  to  the  skin  throws  the  mass  of  the 
blood  previously  circulating  there  inwards  upon  the  lungs,  and  increases 
that  secretion  to  a  high  degree.  Were  this  secretion  to  accumulate,  it 
would  soon  fill  up  the  air-cells  of  the  lungs,  and  cause  suffocation ;  but  to 
obviate  this  danger,  the  Creator  has  so  constituted  the  lungs,  that  any 
foreign  body  coming  in  contact  with  them  excites  tbe  convulsive  effort 
called  coughing,  by  which  a  violent  and  rapid  expiration  takes  place,  with 
a  force  sufficient  to  hurry  the  foreign  body  along  with  it ;  just  as  peas 
are  discharged  by  boys  with  much  force  through  short  tubes  by  a  sudden 
effort  of  blowing.  Thus,  a  check  given  to  perspiration,  by  diminishing  the 
quantity  of  blood  previously  circulating  on  the  surface,  naturally  leads 
very  often  to  increased  expectoration  and  cough,  or,  in  other  words,  to 
common  cold.*' — ^pp,  55,  56. 

The  connexion  between  the  suppression  of  perspiration,  and  the 
appearance  of  internal  disease,  we  are  told  by  the  author  is  not  the 
effect  of  the  suppressed  exhalation  being  transferred  to  the  internal 
organ,  but  in  many  cases  to  an  impression  on  the  nervous  system. 

'*  It  is  in  consequence  of  the  sympathy  and  reciprocity  of  action  exist- 
ing between  the  iJdn  and  the  internal  organs,  that  burns  and  even  scalds 
of  no  very  great  extent  prove  fatal,  by  inducing  internal,  generally  intes- 
tinal, inflamation.  By  disordering  or  disorgranizing  a  large  nervous  and 
exhaling  surface,  an  extensive  bum  causes  not  only  a  violent  nervous 
commotion,  but  a  continued  partial  suspension  of  an  important  excretion; 
and,  when  death  ensues  at  some  distance  of  time,  it  is  almost  always  in  con- 
sequence of  inflammation  being  excited  in  the  bowels  or  sympathizing 
organ.  So  intimate,  indeed,  is  this  connexion,  that  some  surgeons  of 
great  experience,  such  as  Baron  Dupu3rtren  of  the  Hotel  Dieu,  while  they 
point  to  internal  imflammation  as  in  such  cases  the  general  cause  of  death, 
doubt  whether  recovery  ever  takes  place,  when  more  than  one-eighth  of 
the  surface  of  the  body  is  severely  burnt;  and  whether  this  estimate  be 
correct  or  not,  the  facts  from  which  it  is  drawn  clearly  demonstrate  the 
importance  of  the  relation  subsisting  betwixt  the  skin  and  the  other  ex- 
creting organs." — ^p.68. 

The  skin  also  regulates  bodily  heat,  in  the  polar  regions  and  in 
the  torrid  zone,  keeping  the  human  frame  at  nearly  the  same 
temperature.  Without  this  power  of  adaptation,  man  must  have 
been  chdned  for  life  to  the  climate  which  gave  him  birth ;  and 
though  the  sources  of  animal  heat  have  not  been  demonstrably 
ascertained,  it  is  constantly  generated  and  constantly  expended. 

"During  repose,  or  passive  exercise,  the  surplus  heat  is  readily  carried 
off  by  the  insensible  perspiration  from  the  lungs  and  skin,  and  by  the 
contact  of  the  colder  air ;  but  when  the  amount  of  heat  generated  is  in- 


Tke  PrimcipUm  of  Phenology,  187 

creased,  as  durikig  active  ekerdse,  jwa  increased  MciMMiiditure  becomes  im^ 
mediatdy  necessary :  this  is  effected  by  the  skin  and  lungs  being  exdfeed 
to  higher  action;  by  the  latter  sending  out  the  respired  air  lotted  with 
vs^nr,  and  the  former  exhaling  its  fluid  so  rapidly  as  to  form  sweat. 
Accordingly,  we  find  that  in  cold  countries,  and  in  frosty  weather,  the  ex- 
halation from  the  skin  ie  reduced  to  a  very  moderate  amount,  the  super- 
abundant heat  being  rapidly  carried  off  by  contact  with  a  cooler  air;  and 
that,  in  warm  climates,  where  the  heat  is  not  carried  off  in  this  way,  the 
surface  is  constantly  bedewed  with  perspiration,  and  a  corresponding  ap- 
petite exists  for  liquids  by  which  the  perspiration  may  be  kept  up  to  a 
sufficient  degree.  Every  one  must  have  experienced  tJie  grateM  effects 
of  this  provision,  in  passing  from  the  dry,  restless,  and  burning  heat, 
like  that  of  fever,  to  the  soft  and  pleasant  coolness  which  follows  the 
breaking  out  of  the  sweat. 

"  In  very  warm  weather,  the  dog  is  always  seen  with  its  tongue  lolling 
out  of  its  mouth,  and  copiously  covered  with  frothy  secretion.  This  is 
merely  another  modification  of  the  means  used  for  reducing  animal  heat. 
The  dog  perspires  very  little  from  its  skin,  and  the  copious  exhalation 
from  the  mouth  is  the  substitute  resorted  to  by  Nature  for  supplying  its 
place."— pp.  60—62. 

It  is  thus  easily  understood^  why  in  summet  we  soflSet  most  from 
heat  in  moist  dose  weather,  when  no  air  is  stirring ;  and  why  warm 
moist  climates  are  mojst  unwholesome.  The  evaporation  from  the 
skin  is  diminished ;  ttie  atmosphere  partially  shuts  up  the  natural 
outlet  of  the  superflous  heat,  at  the  same  time  that  it  checks  the 
exit  df  the  waste  matter  of  the  system.  Moist  air  is  also  favourable 
to  absorption^  and  noxious  effluvia  are  more  easily  in  such  a 
climate  received  into  the  system.  Night  air  is  on  this  principle 
unwholesome.  Absorption  is,  therefore,  in  some  measure,  the  op- 
posite of  the  last-mentioned  process.  As  one  instance  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  operates,  take  the  following  useful  illustration  :— 

'^  When  the  perspiration  is  brought  to  the  surfEUse  of  the  skin  and  con- 
fined there  either  by  injudicious  clothing  or  by  want  of  cleanliness,  there 
is  much  reason  to  suppose  that  its  residual  parts  are  again  absorbed,  and 
act  on  the  system  as  a  poison  of  greater  or  less  power,  according  to  its 
quantity  and  degree  of  concentration,  thereby  producing  fever,  inflamma- 
tion, and  even  death  itself ;  for  it  is  established  by  observation,  that  con- 
centrated animal  eflluvia  form  a  very  energetic  poison.  The  fatal  conse- 
quences which  have  repeatedly  followed  the  use  of  a  close  water-proof 
dress  by  sportsmen  and  others,  and  the  heat  and  uneasy  resUessness 
which  speedily  ensue  where  proper  ventilation  is  thus  prevented,  seem  ex- 
plicable on  some  such  principle." — ^pp.  67,  68. 

Another  wonderful  function  of  the  skin  is,  that  it  serves  as  the 
instrument  of  touch  and  sensation,  '^  by  affording  a  suitable  surfiaice 
for  the  distribution  and  protection  of  the  nerves  which  receive  and 
transmit  to  the  brain  and  mind  the  impressions  of  external  bodies. 
The  filaments  from  the  nerves  pervaae  the  whole  body,  without 
which  the  texture  and  vitality  of  the  skin  might  be  destroyed  and 
yet  one  be  unconscious  of  the  fact :  though  the  hands  and  tongue 
in  man  are  the  chief  parts  for  the  exercise  of  touch.     From  this 


188  The  Prindplet  of  Pkyfklogy. 

office,  the  skm  has  a  teucfa  more  extensive  connection  with  the 
hi^hevt  llinctions  of  the  body  and  even  of  the  mind,  than  at  first 
appears  to  the  ignorant. 

"  It  is  the  nervous  tissue  of  the  skin  which  takes  cognizance  of  the 
temperature  of  the  bodies  by  which  we  are  surrounded,  and  imparts  to 
the  mind  the  sensation  of  warmth  or  coldness.  In  the  healthy  state,  tite 
sensation  is  a  correct  index  of  the  real  temperature ;  but,  in  disease,  we 
often  complain  of  cold  and  shivering  when  the  skin  is  positively  warmer 
than  natural.  In  this  way,  those  whose  digestion  is  weak,  and  whose  cir- 
culation is  feeble,  complain  habitually  of  cold,  and  of  cold  feet,  where 
others,  differently  constituted,  experience  no  such  sensations.  Exercise 
dissipates  this  feeling  and  increases  heat,  by  exciting  the  circulation  of 
the  blood,  throwing  more  of  it  to  the  surface,  and  thereby  increasing  the 
action  of  the  cutaneous  vessels  and  nerves. 

"Some  mental  emotions  operate  upon  the  skin,  and  impmr  its  functions 
much  in  the  same  way  as  cold.  Grief,  fear,  and  the  depressing  passions, 
by  diminishing  the  afflux  of  arterial  blood,  render  the  skin  pale,  and  at 
the  same  time  diminish  perspiration  and  nervous  action;  while  rage  and 
bther  violent  passions,  by  augmenting  the  aiHux  of  blood,  elevate  the 
temperature  of  the  skin,  and  give  rise  to  the  red  flush,  fulness,  and 
tension  so  characteristic  of  excitement.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  effect  of 
mental  emotions  on  the  skin  is  so  great  as  to  induce  disease.  In  speaking 
of  impetigo.  Dr.  Bateman  aUudes  to  two  gentlemen  in  whom  the  eruption 
arose  from  'great  alarm  and  agitation  of  mind ;'  and  adds,  that  he  '  wit- 
nessed some  lime  ago  the  extraordinary  influence  of  mental  alarm  on 
the  cutaneous  circulation  in  a  poor  woman  who  became  a  patient  of  the 
Public  Dispensary.  A  sudden  universal  anasarca  (dropsy  under  the  skin) 
followed  m  one  night,  the  shock  occasioned  by  the  loss  of  a  small  sum  of 
money,  which  was  all  she  possessed .'  Facts  like  these  establish  a  con- 
nection between  the  brain  and  the  nervous  system  and  the  skin,  which 
it  is  important  not  to  overlook. 

^  Such  are  the  direct  and  important  uses  of  the  skin.  But  in  addition 
to  the  parts  already  noticed,  there  are  numerous  small  follicles  contained 
hi  its  substance,  more  abundant  where  hairs  are  implanted,  and  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  orifices  of  natural  canals,  than  in  other  regions,  but  exist* 
ing  in  all  parts  except  the  palms  of  the  hands  and  soles  of  the  feet.  They 
are  about  the  size  of  a  millet  seed,  and  the  skin  which  contains  them  is 
thin,  reflected  on  itself,  and  very  vascular.  Their  cavities  are  filled  with 
an  oily  humour  and  each  opens  by  an  orifice  at  the  external  suilace  of  the 
aldn.  It  is  this  oily  matter  which  prevents  water  from  penetrating  easily 
and  relaxing  the  cuticle,  and  the  absence  of  which,  wh^Ei  it  had  been  re- 
moved by  the  soda  used  in  washing,  allows  the  dun  of  the  hands  and 
fingers  to  assume  that  wrinkled  and  shrivelled  appearance  which  is  com- 
mon among  washerwomen*" — ^pp.  74 — 77. 

The  third  chapter  is  on  the  preservation  of  the  health  of  the 
skill ;  in  which  he  proceeds  to  point  out  some  of  the  advantages  to 
be  derived  from  the  foregoing  knowledge. 

"  It  appears  from  the  London  Bills  of  Mortality,  that  between  a  fourth 
and  a  fifth  of  all  the  infants  baptized  die  witliin  the  first  two  years  of  their 
existence.  This  extraordinary  result  is  not  a  part  of  the  Creator's  de- 
signs ;  it  docs  not  occur  in  the  lower  animals,  and  must  therefore  have 


The  Principiesqf  Physioiogy.  189 

causes  capable  t>f  removal.  One  of  these,  to  speak  only  of  what  is  re- 
lated to  the  present  inquiry,  Is  unquestionably  the  inadequate  protection 
afforded,  especially  among  the  poorer  classes,  to  the  new-bom  infant, 
againi^  the  effects  of  the  great  and  sudden  transition  which  it  makes  i^ 
passing  at  once  froja  a  high  aad  almost  unvarying  temperature  in  the 
mother's  womb,  to  one  greatly  inferior  and  constantly  liable  to  change. 
At  birth,  the  skin  is  deUoate,  extremely  vascular,  and  highly  suscepti- 
ble of  impressions,  so  maoh  so,  that  cases  have  occurred  in  which  a  leech 
bite  has  caused  a  f^tal  hemorrhage.  The  circulation  is,  in  fact,  cuta-; 
neons ;  for  the  lungs,  the  stomach,  the  liver,  and  the  kidneys,  are  as  yet 
new  to  life,  and  feeble  in  their  functions.  If  the  infant,  then,  be  rasnly 
exposed  to  a  ^M  atmosphere,  the  mass  of  blood  previously  circulating  on 
the  surface  of  the  body  is  immediately  driven  inwards  by  the  contraction 
of  the  cutaneous  vessels,  and,  by  over  stimulating  the  internal  organs, 
gives  rise  to  bowel  complaints,  inflammations,  croup,  or  convulsions, 
which  sooner  or  later  extinguish  life.  This  shews  the  inexpressible 
folly  of  those  who  bathe  infants  daily  in  cold  water  even  in  winter,  and 
freelv  expose  them  to  the  open  air,  or  to  currents  from  open  doors  or 
windows,  with  a  view  to  harden  their  constitutions ;  when  it  is  quite  cer- 
tain that  no  more  effectual  means  could  be  resorted  to  in  the  earlier 
months  of  life,  to  undermine  the  general  health  and  entail  future  disease 
on  the  unhappy  subjects  of  the  experiment." — pp.  78,  79* 

The  anther  states  that  this  practice  has  perhaps  arisen  from  the 
prei^ent  error  of  supposing  infanta  to  be  naturally  possessed  of  a  great 
power  of  generating  beat^  and  resisting  cold.  The  very  contrary 
has  been  establishc^d  by  experiment  to  be  the  &ct.  The  opposite 
error  is  next  exposed^  that  of  overloading  children  with  warm 
clothings  and  con&nng  them  to  hot  and  close  rooms.  Many  exceU 
lent  and  pertinent  things  are  said  by  our  author  on  the  subject  of 
jndicioos  dofliing^  and  all  in  concordance  with  his  foregoing  doc* 
trina  on  the  skin. 

^  Female  dress  errs  in  one  important  particular,  even  when  well  suited 
in  material  and  quantity.  From  the  tightness  with  which  it  is  made  to 
fit  on  the  upper  part  of  the  body,  not  only  is  the  insensible  perspiration 
iBJudicioualy  apd  hurtfuUy  connned,  but  that  free  play  between  the  dress 
ai^  the  skin,  which  is  so  beneficial  in  gently  stunulating  the  latter  by 
friction  on  every  movement  of  the  body,  is  altogether  prevented,  and  the 
action  of  the  cutaneous  nerves  and  vessels,  and  consequently  the  heat 
generated,  rendered  lower  in  degree,  than  would  result  from  the  same 
dress  worn  more  loosely.  Every  part  and  every  function  are  thus  linked 
so  closely  with  the  rest,  that  we  can  neither  act  wrong  as  regards  one 
organ  without  all  suffering,  nor  act  right  without  all  sharing  in  the 
benefit."— pp.  84,  85. 

The  value  of  flannel  next  the  skin,  the  salutary  effects  of  fre- 
quent washing,  of  clean  dress,  of  dry  feet,  especially  when  the  per^ 
son  is  not  taUng  exercise  to  counterbalance  the  unequal  flow  of 
blood  that  is  then  sent  to  the  internal  parts,  are  all  plainly  and 
strikingly  illustrated.  And  even  the  great  influence  of  the  solar 
light  as  a  stimulus  to  the  skin,  is  clearly  exhibited  by  the  author, 
a  matter  which  has  not  hitherto  been  much  attended  to.    We  have 


1 90  The  Principles  of  Physiology. 

not  room  to  ^e  his  various  sensible  and  praeffcal  rules  oirthe  sub- 
ject of  bathing.  Let  every  invalid  pundiase  the  work  for  his  im- 
mediate use  on  this  particular  pointy  and  we  are  sure^  if  washing, 
bathing,  and  rubbings  be  suitable  for  him,  he  will  be  soon  doubly 
repaid  by  the  simple  directions  therein  contained.  But  let  it  once 
for  all  be  understood,  that  the  work  is  fitted  to  teach  all,  how  health 
may  be  essentially  protected,  as  well  as  renovated;  and  to  every 
bather  it  is  therefore  a  highly  necessary  pocket  companion. 

The  fourth  and  fifth  chapters  are  twen  up  with  a  consideratioa 
of  the  museokr  system,  and  the  effects  and  rules  for  muscular  ex- 
ercise. These  chapters  are  particularly  fitted  to  excite  the  attention 
of  all^  bat  as  the  author  says,  especially  of  those  who  are  interested 
in  file  well-being  and  education  of  the  young.  In  the  sixth  chapter 
fhe  bones,  their  structure,  uses,  and  health  are  described;  in  the 
seventh,  respiration  and  its  uses.  But  although  every  part  and  chap- 
ter presents  materials  as  instructive  and  practical  as  any  hitherto 
quoted;  our  limits  must  be  observed,  and  therefore  we  nasten  on 
to  the  nervous  system  and  mentd  faculties  which  occupy  the  latter 
chapters. 

The  brain  is  the  chief  organ  in  the  nervous  syatem,  and  that  to 
which  the  author  confines  most  of  his  remarks.  He  treats  it  as 
'Hhe  seat  of  thought,  feeling,  and  consciousness,  and  the  centre 
towards  which  all  impressions  made  on  the  nerves  distributed 
through  the  body  are  conveyed,  and  from  which  the  commands  of 
the  wUl  are  transmitted  to  put  die  various  parts  in  motion.''  Mind 
and  brain  however  are  not  considered  by  him  as  being  one  and  the. 
same  thing ;  he  merely  intends  that  the  brain  is  as  necessarily 
engaged  in  'Cvery  intelectual  and  moral  operation  as  the  eye  is  in 
every  act  of  vision.  The  activity  of  mind  and  activity  of  brain,  he 
justly  holds  to  be  inseparable,  and  on  these  data  he  builds  much 
of  what  follows  in  this  treatise ;  the  laws  by  which  their  healthy 
action  is  regulated,  being  of  primary  importance  to  his  views.  There 
are  certain  conditions  which  he  states  to  be  essential  to  this  health. 
A  sound  original  constitution  is  the  first  thing  mentioned  as  re- 
quisite to  the  brain.  The  second  condition  required  is  a  due 
supply  of  good  blood ;  that  is,  blood  properly  oxygenated.  The 
third  and  chief  object  of  the  author's  consideration  is  the  r^ular 
exercise  of  the  brain  and  nervous  system.  And  here  he  lays  it 
down,  that  the  brain  is  subject  in  its  exercise  to  precisely  the  same 
laws  as  the  other  organs  of  the  body. 

Of  the  consequences  of  inadequate  exercise.  Dr.  Combe  presents 
the  following  illustration,  of  the  spirit  with  which  it  is  detailed  it  is 
unnecessary  to  speak ;  but  in  our  admiration  of  the  sentiments  here 
and  in  many  other  parts  exhibited,  the  fact  forcibly  strikes  us,  that 
medical  men  have  not  only  been  great  contributors  to  intellectual 
philosophy,  but  remarkable  characters  for  humanity  and  the  ten- 
derest  sensibilities. 


■The  Principles  of  Physiology.  '  WS     191 

**  We  have  seen  that»  by  disuse,  muscle  becomes  emaciated,  bone  soft- 
ezis,  blood-vessels  are  obtiterated,  and  nerves  loose  their  characteristic 
structure.  The  brain  is  no  exception  to  this  general  rule.  Of  it  also 
the  tone  is  impaired  by  pennanent  inactivity,  and  it  becomes  less  fit  to 
manifest  the  mental  powers  with  readiness  and  energry.  Nor  will  this 
surprise  any  reflecting  person,  who  considers  that  the  brain,  as  a  part  of 
the  same  animal  system,  is  nourished  by  the  same  blood,  and  regulated 
by  the  same  vital  laws,  as  the  muscles,  bones,  and  nerves. 

**  It  is  the  weakening  and  depressing  effect  upon  the  brain  of  the  with- 
drawal of  the  stimulus  necessary  for  its  healthy  exercise,  which  renders 
solitary  confinement  so  severe  a  punishment  even  to  the  most  daring 
minds.  It  is  a  lower  degree  of  the  same  cause  which  renders  continuous 
seclusion  from  society  so  injurious  to  both  mental  and  bodily  health,  and 
which  oft;en  renders  the  situation,  of  governesses  one  of  misery  and  bad 
health,  even  where  every  kindness  is  meant  to  be  shewn  towards  them. 
In  many  families,  especially  in  the  higher  ranks,  the  governess  lives  so 
secluded  that  she  is  as  much  out  of  society  as  if  she  were  placed  in  soli- 
tary confinement.  She  is  too  much  above  the  domestics  to  make  com- 
panions of  them,  and  too  much  below  her  employers  to  be  treated  by 
them  either  with  confidence  or  ss  an  equal.  With  feelings  as  aeute,  in- 
terests as  dear,  to  her,  and  a  judgment  as  sound  as  those  of  any  of  the 
persons  who  scarcely  notice  her  existence,  she  is  denied  every  opportunity 
of  gratifying  the  first  or  expressing  the  last,  merely  because  she  '  is  only 
the  gi>veme8S ;'  as  if  governesses  were  not  made  of  the  same  flesh  and 
blood,  and  sent  into  the  world  by  the  same  Creator,  as  their  more  fortu- 
nate employers.  It  is,  I  believe,  beyond  question,  that  much  unhappiness, 
and  not  unfrequently  madness  itself,  are  unintentionally  caused  by  this 
cold  and  inconsiderate  treatment.  For  the  same  reason,  those  who  are 
cut  off  from  social  converse,  by  any  bodily  infirmity,  often  become  discon- 
tented and  morose  in  spite  of  every  resolution  to  the  contrary.  The 
feelings  and  faculties  of  the  mind,  which  had  formerly  full  play  in  their 
intercourse  with  their  fellow  creatures,  have  no  longer  scope  for  suffi- 
cient exercise,  and  the  almost  inevitable  result  is  irritability  and  weak- 
ness in  the  corresponding  parts  of  the  brain.'' — pp.  268,  269. 

Of|the  evils  arising  from  excessive  or  ill-timed  exercise  of  the 
brain^  take  a  few  of  the  instances  addaced. 

••  Sir  Astley  Cooper  had  a  young  gentleman  brought  to  him  who  had 
lost  a  portion  of  his  skull  just  above  the  eyebrow.  '  On  examining  the 
head,*  says  Sir  Astley,  '  I  distinctly  saw  the  pulsation  of  the  brain  was 
regular  and  slow;  but  at  this  time  he  was  agitated  by  some  opposition  to 
his  vnshcs,  and  directly  the  blood  was  sent  \oith  increased  force  to  the 
brain^  the  pulsation  became  frequent,  and  violent ;  ift  therefore,*  con- 
tinues Sir  Astley,  '  you  omit  to  ke^  the  mind  free  from  agitation^  your 
other  means  will  be  unavailing '  in  the  treatment  of  injuries  of  the  brain. 
We  are  conscious,  indeed,  of  a  flow  of  blood  to  the  head  when  we  think 
intently,  or  are  roused  by  passion ;  and  the  distension  of  the  small  vessels 
of  the  brain  is  hot  the  less  real  or  influential  on  account  of  its  being  hid- 
den from  our  view.  Too  often  it  reveals  itself  by  its  effects  when  least 
expected,  and  leaves  traces  after  death  which  are  but  too  legible.  How 
many  public  men,  like  Whitbread,  Romilly,  Castlereagh,  and  Canning, 
urgc^  on  by  ambition  or  natural  eagerness  of  mind,  have  been  suddenly 


199  The  Principies  of  Pk^mlogy. 

.arrested  in  their  career,  by  the  inordinate  action  of  the  brain  induced  by 
incefiaant  toil  I  And  how  many  more. have  had  their  mental  power  for 
ever  impaired  by  similar  excess  I  When  tasked  beyond  its  strength*  the 
eye  becomes  insensible  to  light,  and  no  longer  conveys  any  impreadons 
to  the  mind.  In  like  manner,  the  brain,  when  much  exhaiisted,  becomes 
incupable  of  thought,  and  coosciousneas  is  almost  kwt  in  a  feeliag  of  utter 
connision. 

'*  In  youth,  too,  much  nuschief  is  done  by  the  long  school  hours,  and 
continued  application  of  mind,  which  the  present  system  of  education 
requires.  The  law  oi  exercise,  that  long  sustained  action  exhausts  the 
•vital  powers  of  an  organ,  applies  equally  to  the  brain  as  to  the  muscles; 
and  hence  the  necessity  of  varyinp^  the  occupations  of  the  young,  and 
allowing  frequent  intervals  of  active  exercise  in  the  open  air,  instead  of 
enforcing  the  continued  confinement  now  so  common.  This  exclusive 
attention  to  mental  culture  fails,  as  might  be  expected,  even  in  its  essen- 
tial object;  for  experience  shows  that,  with  a  rational  distribution  of 
employment  and  exercise,  a  child  will  make  greater  progress  than  in 
double  the  time  employed  in  continuous  mental  exertion.  If  the  human 
being  were  made  up  of  nothing  but  a  brain  and  nervous  system,  it  would 
be  very  well  to  content  ourselves  with  sedentary  pursuits,  and  to  confine 
eduoation  entirely  to  the  mind.  But  when  observation  teUs  us  that  we 
have  numerous  other  important  organs  of  motion,  sanguification,  diges- 
tion, circulation,  and  nutrition,  all  demanding  exercise  and  the  open  air 
as  essential  both  to  their  own  health  and  to  that  of  the  nervous  system,  it 
is  worse  than  foUy  to  shut  our  eyes  to  the  fact,  and  to  act  as  if  we  could, 
by  denying  it,  alter  the  constitution  of  nature,  and  thereby  escape  the 
consequences  of  our  misconduct.*' — pp,  278 — 281. 

After  detailing  some  interesting  facts  connected  with  an  illness 
which  seized  Sir  Humphry  Davy  in  1807^  the  author  goes  pn  to 
say:— 

''  As  age  advances,  moderation  in  mental  exertion  becomes  still  more 
necessary  than  in  early  or  mature  years.  Scipion  Pinel,  in  adverting  to 
the  evil  consequences  of  excessive  moral  or  intellectunl  excitement, 
acutely  remarks,  that  while  in  youth  and  manhood  the  wear  of  the  brain 
thus  induced  may  be  repaired,  no  such  salutary  result  follows  over-exer- 
tion in  the  decline  of  life :  *  what  is  lost  then  is  lost  for  ever.  At  that 
period,  we  must  learn  to  wait  for  what  the  brain  is  willing  to  give,  and 
allow  it  to  work  at  its  own  time :  to  attempt  to  force  it  is  to  weaken  it  to 
no  purpose ;  it  becomes  excited  and  quickly  exhausted  when  forced  to 
vigorous  thinking.' — '  Men  of  exalted  intellect  perish  by  their  brains, 
and  such  is  the  noble  end  of  those  whose  genius  pnx^urcs  for  them  that 
immbrtality  which  so  many  ardently  desire.' 

'*  Who  can  peruse  these  lines  without  the  fiite  of  Scott  instantiy  occur- 
ring to  his  mind  as  a  practical  illustration  of  their  truth  ?  In  the  vigour 
of  manhood,  few  ever  wrote  so  much,  or  with  greater  ease.  But  when 
on  the  verge  of  old  age,  adversity  forced  him  to  unparalleled  exertion, 
the  organic  waste  could  no  longer  be  repaired,  and  perseverance  only 
'  weakened  the  brain  to  no  purpose/  till  morbid  irritability  became  the 
substitute  of  healthy  power,  aud  he  perished  by  that  brain  which  had 
served  him  so  faithfully  and  so  efficiently,  but  which  could  no  longer 
withstand  the  gigantic  efforts  which  he  continued  to  demand  from  it." — 
p.  287. 


ThePfiAcipka  of  Physiology,  193 

The  author  k  singularly  happy  and  cogent  in  all  he  urges  in  this 
f^hapter.  He  writes  with  great  earnestness  throughout,  but  towards 
the  latter  part  of  the  volume  he  rises  with  his  subject,  and  treats 
it  as  if  it  had  engaged  a  long  and  careful  investigation  as  well  as. 
heartfelt  aympathy.  Were  there  nothing  but  the  fineness  of  his 
fading  renrarkable  in  the  work,  and  the  taste  with  which  he  clothes 
his  sentiments,  we  should  predict  its  great  and  lasting  popularity. 
But  these  things  are  weddea  to  sterling  good  sense  and  phOosophi- 
cal  precision.  Our  readers  cannot  but  relish  his  facts  and  bis 
rea6<mings ;  therefore  we  must  still  fiirther  indulge  them : — 

^*  So  little,  however,  is  this  close  connection  of  the  mind  and  brain 
generally  understood,  even  among  educated  people,  that  instances  are  con- 
stantly occurring  of  the  health  of  the  nervous  system  being  ruined  by 
excessive  application  of  mind,  without  the  bufferer  having  any  suspicion 
of  the  true  cause  of  his  ailments.  This  fact  is  well  iexemplified  in  the 
pages  of  a  very  sound  and  able  American  writer,  who  says,  *I  once  knew 
a  young  Christian,  who  resolved  that  he  would  pass  the  whole  day  in 
pfayer.  But  very  soon  he  became  exhausted  and  weary.  He,  however, 
persevered  through  the  whole  day,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  necessary 
interruptions,  and  when  night  came  he  felt  a  deadness  and  exhattslioTk. 
0/ feeling  which  he  unhappily  mistook  for  ^ritual  desertiofi,*  I  need 
scarcely  add,  that  no  one  at  ail  acquainted  with  the  laws  which  God  has 
appointed  to  preside  over  the  functions  of  the  human  body,  could  ever 
have  expected  His  blessing  to  attend  so  flagrant  a  violation  of  His  de- 
signs, or  have  felt  surprise  at  the  apparent  spiritual  desertion  increasing 
in  exact  proportion  to  the  excess  of  the  hodily  fatigue.  Cases  like  that  of 
the  young  Christian  shew,  in  a  strong  light,  the  evils  arising  from  con- 
fining ourselves  too  exclusively  to  the  word,  and  neglecting  the  study  of 
the  works,  of  God,  as  if  the  latter  were  quite  of  a  secondary  character,  and 
did  not  proceed  from  the  same  infallible  source ;  whereas  it  is  only  by 
duly  investigating  the  laws  of  God,  as  operating  in  the  varied  works  of 
creation,  that^we  become  enabled  rightly  to  interpret  and  to  apply  to  our 
conduct  wh|it  is  revealed  in  His  word. 

"  The  time  best  adapted  for  mental  exertion  falls  next  to  be  considered. 
Nature  has  allotted  the  darkness  of  night  for  repose,  and  the  restoration, 
by  sleep,  of  the  exhausted  energies  of  mind  and  i;ody.  If  study  or  com- 
position be  ardently  engaged  in  towards  that  period  of  the  day,  the  in- 
creased action  of  the  brain,  which  always  accompanies  activity  of  mind, 
requires  a  long  time  to  subside ;  and,  if  the  individual  be  at  all  of  an  irri- 
table habit  of  body,  he  will  be  sleepless  for  hours  after  going  to  bed,  or 
perhaps  be  tormented  by  unpleasant  dreams.  If,  notwithstanding,  the 
practice  be  continued,  the  want  of  refreshing  repose  will  ultimately  induce 
a  state  of  morbid  irritability  of  the  nervous  system,  not  far  distant  from' 
insanity.  It  is  therefore  of  great  advantage  to  engage  in  severer  studies 
early  in  the  day,  and  devote  the  two  or  three  hours  which  precede  bed- 
time, to  lighter  reading,  music,  or  amusing  conversation.  The  vascular 
excitement  previously  induced  in  the  head  by  study  has  then  time  to  sub- 
side, and  sound  refreshing  sleep  is  much  more  certainly  obtained.  This 
rule  is  of  great  consequence  to  those  who  are  obliged  to  undergo  much 
mental  labour,  sad  it  will  be  found  that  many  of  our  most  prolific  writers, 
of  those  especially  who  write  much  and  yet  preserve  their  health,  are 

VOL.  III.  (1834.)  NO.  II.  p 


194  The  Princ^les  of  Pkffsiology. 

among  those  who  have  either  from  knowledge  or  incltnatkia  devoted  tlleir 
mornings  to  study  and  their  evenings  to  relaxation.  Such  was  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  distribution  tii  his  time,  and  such  is  that  of  one  of  our  ablest  living 
writers. "~pp.  290—294. 

On  the  organic  law  which  associates  aptitude^  ansmaiioiiy  aad 
vigour  with  regular  exercise,  and  of  the  vahie  of  jodioiooa  repetition 
in  mental  and  moral  education,  we  have  excellent  things  aaid.  The 
following  are  striking  illustrations  : — 

••  We  often  blame  servants  for  not  doing  a  thing  every  day,  because 
they  were  once  told  to  do  so.  The  organic  laws,  however,  teach  us  that 
we  are  presumptuous  in  expecting  the  formation  of  a  habit  from  a  single 
act,  and  that  we  must  reproduce  the  associated  activity  of  the  requisite 
fiaculties  many  times  before  the  result  will  certainly  foUo'w,  just  as  we 
must  repeat  the  movement  in  dancing  or  skating  many  tiiHea  before  we 
become  roaster  of  it.  Accordingly,  we  find  on  turning  to  a  new  subject, 
that  however  well  we  may  understand  it  by  one  perusal,  we  do  not  fully 
master  it,  except  by  dwelling  upon  it  again  and  again. 

**  The  necessity  of  being  in  private  what  we  wish  to  appear  in  public, 
springs  from  the  same  rule.  If  we  wish  to  be  polite,  just,  kind,  and  so- 
ciable, we  must  habitually  act  under  the  influence  of  the  corresponding 
sentiments  in  the  domestic  circle  and  in  every- day  lifd,  $ia  well  as  in  the 
company  of  strangers  and  on  great  occasions.  It  is  the  daily  practice 
which  gives  ready  activity  to  the  sentiments,  and  marks  the  character. 
If  we  indulge  in  vulgarities  of  speech  and  behaviour  at  home,  and  put 
on  politeness  merely  for  the  reception  of  strangers*  the  former  will  shine 
through  the  mask  which  is  intended  to  hide  them ;  because  the  habitual 
association  to  which  the  organs  and  fGU^ulties  have  been  accustomed,  can- 
not be  thus  controlled.  As  well  may  we  hope  to  excel  in  elegant  and 
graceful  dancing  by  the  daily  practice  of  every  awkward  attitoide.  In 
the  one  case,  as  in  the  other,  the  organs  must  not  only  be  assoeiated  in 
action  by  the  command  of  the  will,  but  they  must  be  habituated  to  the 
association  by  the  frequency  of  the  practice ;  a  fact  which  exposes  the 
ignorant  folly  of  those  parents  who  habitually  act  with  rudeaees  aad. 
caprice  towards  their  children,  and  then  chide  the  latter  for  unpolite  be- 
haviour towards  strangers."— *pp.  296— <298. 

Dt.  Combe  complains,  and  not  without  eanse,  that  the  {tired 
exercise  and  training  of  the  moral  and  religious  senttmenta  and 
affections  upon  their  own  objects,  are  little  thought  of  as  essential 
to  their  full  and  vigorous  developefnent.  Parents  and  teachers,  he 
says,  too  often  forget  that  the  sentiments /i?e/^  and  do  not  reason, 

'*  What  kind  of  moral  eduation  is  that,  for  instance,  which,  while  the 
instructress  vilifies  the  physical  appetites  of  hunger  and  thirst,  and 
preaches  disregard  of  their  <Sraving3  and  of  the  gratifications  of  taste, 
leads  her  to  set  down  a  meal  to  her  boarders,  from  partaking  in  which 
she  betrays  the  strongest  desire  to  escape,  on  account  of  its  inferiority  to 
that  which  is  provided  for  herself  and  the  few  at  the  head  of  the  establish- 
ment ?  .  What  advances  in  morality  and  religion  can  be  expected  under 
the  charge  of  one,  who  says,  '  Do  tmio  others  as  you  wotUd  be  dofie  by* 
and  then  leaves  his  dependents  to  suffer  pain,  chilblains,  and  diisease, 
from  want  of  a  fire  to  warm  the  room  in  which  they  sit,  he  himself  com- 


The  Principles  of  Physiofogy.  ^  195 

rng  into  it  with  features  flushed  hy  the  heat  of  the  blazing  fire,  which,  for 
weefcft,  has  been  provided  for  his  comfort  in  his  own  apaiiment  ?  What 
generosity  of  feeling  can  arise  from  the  superintendence  of  a  teacher^ 
who,  though  liberally  paid  for  the  food  of  her  pupils,  and,  with  moral 
precepts  oa  her  lips,  fiatisftea  the  cravings  of  Nature  in  the  long  intervals 
between  meals,  only  at  the  expense  of  l^e  pence  constituting  the  pockei-^ 
money  of  the  scholar  ? — the  food  in  this  case  being  denied,  not  beoause  it 
ia  considered  improper, — ^for  were  that  the  case,  it  would  be  a  dereliction 
of  duty  to  give  it  on  any  terms, — but  from  sheer  meanness  and  cupidity. 
AVhat  kind  of  moral  duties  does  the  parent  encourage,  who,  recommend- 
ing kindness,  openness,  and  justice,  tricks  the  child  into  the  confession  of 
faults,  and  t)ien  basely  punishes  it,  having  previously  promised  forgive* 
ncss  ?  And  how  is  openness  best  encouraged, — by  practising  it  in  con- 
duct, or  by  neglecting  it  in  practice,  but  praising  it  in  words  ?  Is  it  to 
be  cultivated  by  thrusting  suspicions  in  the  face  of  honest  intentions  ? 
And  how  is  justice  to  be  cultivated  by  a  guardian  who  speaks  about 
it,  recommends  it,  and  in  practice  charges  each  of  four  pupils  the 
whole  fare  of  a  hackney  coach  ?  Or  what  kind  of  moral  education  is  that 
which  says, '  Do  as  J  hid  you^  and  I  will  give  you  sweetmeats  or  moneys 
or  I  will  tell  your  mamma  how  good  you  were ;'  holding  out  the  loAvest 
and  most  selfish  propensities  as  the  motives  to  moral  conduct !  Did  space 
permit,  I  might  indeed  pursue  the  whole  round  of  moral  and  religious 
duties,  and  ask  similar  questions  at  each.  But  it  is  needless.  These  ex- 
amples will  suffice  ;  and  I  give  them  not  aa  applicable  generally  either  to 
parents  or  teachers,  but  simply  as  individual  instances  from  among  both, 
which  have  came  within  the  sjphere  of  my  own  knowledge,  and  which 
bear  directly  upon  the  principle  under  diacusaion." — pp.  d04»-6. 

In  His  ninth  chapter^  the  author  in  treating  of  the  causes  of  bad 
health,  maintains  that  it  is  not  always  the  result  of  moral  or  im- 
moral conduct^  nor  of  accident^  but  often  of  the  infringement  of  the 
laws  of  organization. 

*'  Considering  that  the  human  frame  is  constructed  to  endure,  in  many 
cases,  for  sixty,  seventy,  or  eighty  years,  it  must  seem  extraordinary  to  a 
reflecting  miziid,  that,  in  some  situations,  one-half  of  all  who  are  born 
should  die  before  attaining  maturity;  and  that,  of  1000  infants  bom  and 
reared  in  London,  650  die  before  the  age  of  ten  years.  It  is  impossible  to 
auypoae  that  such  a  rate  of  mortality  was  designed  by  the  Creator  as  the 
unsvoidable  fate  of  man;  for,  by  the  gradual  improvement  of  society  and 
a  ck)ser  observance  of  the  organic  laws,  the  proportion  of  deaths  in  early 
life  has  already  been  greatly  reduced.  A  hundred  years  ago,  when  the 
pauper  infants  of  London  were  received  and  brought  up  in  the  work- 
houses, amidst  impure  air,  crowding,  and  want  of  proper  food,  not  above 
one  in  twenty-four  lived  to  be  a  year  old ;  so  that  out  of  2800  received 
Rito  them,  2690  died  yearly.  But  when  the  conditions  of  health  came  to 
be  a  little  better  understood,  and  an  act  of  Parliament  was  obtained 
obliging  the  parish  officers  to  send  the  infants  to  nurse  in  the  country, 
tlus  frightful  mortality  was  reduced  to  450,  instead  of  upwards  of  2600 ! 
Can  evidence  stronger  than  this  ,be  required  to  prove  that  bad  health  fre- 
qiiently  arises  from  causes  which  man  may  often  be  able  to  discover  and 
remove,  and  which,  therefore,  it  is  his  bounden  duty  to  investigate  and 
aToid  by  every  means  which  Providence  has  placed  within  his  reach  ?*'*-^ 
pp.  330,  331.  p  2 


1 96  The  Principles  of\Phy»ioIogy . 

Amongst  various  examples  in  proof  of  his  doctrine,  that  the  pro- 
gress of  knowledge  has  done  much  to  deliver  us  from  many  scourges 
considered  by  our  forefathers  as  the  unavoidable  dispensations  of  an 
inscrutable  providence^  he  mentions  that — 

**  So  lately  as  the  middle  of  last  century,  ag^e  was  so  prevalent  in  many 
parts  of  Britain  where  it  is  now  never  seen,  that  our  ancestors  looked 
upon  an  attack  of  it  as  a  kind  of  necessary  evil,  from  which  they  could 
never  hope  to  be  delivered.  In  this  instance,  also,  farther  experience  has 
shewn  that  Providence  was  not  in  fault.  By  draining  the  land,  remov- 
ing dunghills,  building  better  houses  in  better  situations,  and  obtaining 
better  food  and  warmer  clothing,  it  appears  that  generations  now  succeed 
(;ach  other,  living  on  the  very  same  soil,  without  a  single  case  of  ague 
ever  occurring,  where,  a  century  ago,  every  man,  woman,  and  child  were 
almost  sure  to  suffer  from  it  at  one  time  or  other  of  their  lives;  thus 
again  shewing  how  much  man  may  do  for  the  preservation  of  his  health 
and  the  improvement  of  his  condition,  when  his  conduct  is  directed  by 
knowledge  and  sound  principles." — ^p.  333. 

The  last  chapter  of  the  book  is  on  the  application  of  the  princi- 
ples of  physiology  to  the  amelioration  of  the  condition  of  the  insane^ 
and  can  only  be  done  juctice  to,  by  a  careful  perusal.  We  will  not 
mar  the  efiect  of  that  which  is  to  be  extracted  by  any  remarks  of 
our  own. 

*^  If  the  state  and  management  of  public  and  private  asylums  for  the 
reception  of  this  class  of  patients  be  examined  with  reference  to  the  con- 
ditions of  health  already  explained  in  treating  of  the  respiratory,  muscular 
and  nervous  systems,  it  cannot  fail  to  strike  the  reflecting  observer,  that 
w^hilc  in  many  institutions  the  most  laudable  zeal  has  been  shewn  for  the 
physical  health  and  comfort  of  the  patients,  comparatively  little  has  been 
accomplislied,  or  even  attempted,  with  the  direct  purpose  of  correcting  the 
morbid  action  of  the  brain,  and  restoring  the  mental  functions.  We  have 
now,  inmost  asylums,  clean  and  well  ventilated  apartments,  baths  of 
various  descriptions,  abundant  supplies  of  nourishing  food,  and  a  better 
system  of  classification ;  the  furious  and  the  depressed  being  no  longer 
subjected  to  each  other's  influence  and  society :  and  the  result  has  been, 
that  in  so  far  as  these  important  conditions  arc  favourable  to  the  general 
health,  and  to  that  of  the  nervous  system  in  particular,  recovery  has  been 
promoted,  and  personal  comfort  secured.  But  in  so  far  as  regards  the 
systematic  employment  of  what  is  called  active  moral  treatment,  and  its 
adaptation  to  particular  cases,  a  great  deal  more  remains  to  be  done  than 
has  hitherto  been  considered  necessary.  This  will  be  apparent  on  reflect- 
ing how  extremely  influential  the  regular  employment  of  the  various  feel- 
ings, affections,  and  intellectual  powers  is  on  the  health  of  the  brain,  and 
how  few  asylums  possess  any  adequate  provision  for  effecting  this  most 
desirable  object.  If  want  of  occupation,  and  the  absence  oi  objects  of 
interest,  be,  as  we  have  seen,  suflicient  to  destroy  the  health  of  a  soimd 
organ,  the  same  causes  must  be  not  less  influential  in  retarding  the  re- 
covery of  one  already  diseased.  Hence  it  becomes  an  object  of  extreme 
importance  in  establishments  for  the  insane,  to  provide  the  necessary 
means  for  encouraging  the  healthy  and  regular  exercise  of  the  various 
bodily  and  mental  powers ;  and  for  drawing  out  as  it  were,  and  directing 
the  various  affections,  feelings,  and  intellectual  faculties  to  their  proper 


Lardmr's  Cabinet  CfchpseOa.  197 

^bjeets,  tills  being  a  condition  essential,  in  a  higher  degree,  than  any  other 
to  the  success  of  our  curative  measures. 

**  As  nuttters  now  stand,  the  higher  classes  of  lunatics  are  in  one  sense 
the  most  unfortunate  of  all.  Accustomed  at  home  to  the  reSnement  of 
educated  and  intelligent  society,  to  the  enjoyments  arising  from  change 
of  scene,  to  horse  and  carriage  exercise,  and  to  the  command  of  numerous 
sources  of  interest,  they  find  themselves  transported  to  an  asylum  where 
they  may  no  doubt  be  treated  with  kindness,  but  where  they  are  necessa- 
rily cut  off  from  many  of  the  comforts  to  which  they  have  been  accus- 
tomed, and  must  encounter  prejudices,  feelings,  and  modes  of  thinking 
and  acting,  to  which  they  are  strangers,  and  with  which  they  can  have  no 
sympathy.  Being  there  restricted  almost  exclusively  to  the  society  of 
keepers,  who,  from  their  rank,  education,  and  manners,  cannot  be  consi 
dered  qualified  to  gain  their  confidence  or  elicit  friendly  interchange  of 
sentimeijit,  the  patients  are,  in  a  great  measure,  deprived  of  that  beneficial 
intercourse  with  sound  minds  which  is  indispensable  to  health  and  of  the 
numerous  opportunities  which  such  intercourse  presents  for  gradually 
stirring  up  new  interests,  and  leading  to  new  trains  of  thought.  The 
medical  attendant,  indeed,  is  often  the  only  being  to  whom  patients  of  this 
class  can  freely  unburden  their  minds,  and  from  whom  they  can  seek 
comfort;  but  unfortunately  m  most  establishments  his  visits  arc  so  few 
and  short,  that  they  can  scarcely  be  reckoned  as  part  of  an  efficient  moral 
regimen.** — pp.  374 — 6. 

Who  does  not  see  from  these  quotations  the  value  of  Dr.  Combe's 
views  and  suggestions^  and  that  the  higher  classes  are  in  a  remark- 
able degree  interested  in  the  latter  branch  of  his  work?  The 
regimen  and  ameliorations  he  points  out  as  respects  the  insane 
speak  home  to  the  conviction  of  the  mind^  as  soon  as  they  are 
known.  We  hope  he  will  continue  his  exertions  in  the  work  of  en- 
lightened love,  which  he  has  so  well  commenced ;  nor  can  it  be 
that  his  labour  shall  be  in  vain.  Philanthropists  are  not  rare  in 
this  country ;  it  is  only  the  clear  headed,  the  sound  thinking,  that 
are  scarce.  Upon  the  whole^  it  must  be  said,  that  the  wonderful 
and  fearfiil  construction  of  man's  constitution  is  with  vast  effect 
tanght  by  the  unassuming  volume  that  we  now  bid  God  speed  to. 


AaT.  V. — Lardn€r*9  Cabinet  Cyclopadia — Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages, 

Vol.  IV.     Longman  and  Co.   1884. 

The  race  of  popular  and  cheap  publications,  such  as  Libraries, 
Cyclopaedias,  and  the  like,  which  of  late  years  have  been  so  nume- 
rous and  excellent,  forming  a  prominent  feature  in  our  times  in  the 
history  of  literature,  probably  have  not  presented  any  one  family 
more  worthy  of  fevour  than  that  fostered  by  Dr.  Lardner.  But 
the  same  symmetry  of  form  and  worth  of  character  do  not  belong  to 
every  member  of  a  family ;  and  seldom  is  it  found,  when  the  chil- 
dren are  many,  that  there  is  not  at  least  one  so  unlike  the  parents 
and  the  sisters  and  t^e  brothers,  as  to  lead  to  doubts  of  legitimacy, 
or  to  marvel  by  what  freak  of  nature  such  distortion  and  dissimi- 
larity arose.     In  Dr.  Lardner's  household,  the  specimen  now  before 


198  Larduer*s  CtAmet  Cyvhpadia* 

as  bas  saggeeted  these  obsetvationB,  and  shews  us,  that  he  wiH 

have,  among  his  feir  and  valuaUe  offtpring,  one  iH-favoiired,  fraif , 
and  faulty  individual  to  weep  over  so  long  as  he  lives. 

We  have  observed  the  feebleness,  the  inaccuracies  of  matter  and 
style,  and  the  bad  arrangements,  that  the  three  previous  volumes  of 
this  history  exhibited,  and  fondly,  but  vainly,  expected  that  some 
redeeming  change  might,  ere  it  was  closed,  appear,  to  turn  aside  or 
soften  this  censure,  so  richly  deserved.  But  the  thing  has  grown 
worse  and  worse,  and  no  virtuous  indulgence  can  longer  permit  it  to 
escape  exposure.  One  thing  we  are  <}uite  sure  of,  that  the  learned 
conductor  of  the  Cabinet  Cydc^idedia  never  perused  the  present  vo- 
lume  before  it  went  to  the  press,  and  never  after  it  was  printed,  be- 
fore being  published.  Let  Dr.  Lardner  not  be  bo  negligent  in 
future,  if  not  for  the  sake  of  the  public,  at  least  for  his  own.  He 
cannot  yet  afford  to  do  nothing,  or  worse  than  nothing.  That  this 
which  we  have  now  before  us  is  not  a  whit  better  than  what  we  have 
called  it,  must  be  felt  by  every  one  who  examines  it. 

Th3  history  of  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages  one  is  apt  to 
consider  as  a  fine  field  for  an  energetic  and  tastefiil  compiler,  where 
the  materials,  not  merely  aflforded  by  those  times  themfielves,  but 
the  labours  of  historians,  are  now-a-days  so  rich,  that  boys  gene- 
rally hurry  to  it,  in  their  lighter  readings,  as  to  a  land  of  romance. 
Ana  is  it  not  such  a  land  r  Think  of  one  of  its  boundaries — we 
mean  the  subversion  of  the  Western  Roman  Empire !  Again,  in 
its  course  it  presents  the  progress  of  ecclesiastical  power,  wes^th, 
and  ambition,  as  exhibited  in  the  primacy  of  the  see  of  Rome;  and 
the  ingenuities  and  beauties  of  the  Canon  Law.  A  still  more 
attractive  and  stirring  order  of  events  belong  to  the  feudal  charac- 
ter of  those  ages ;  such  as  the  establishment  of  tenures,  the  cere* 
monies  of  homage  and  investiture,  the  military  services,  and  the 
gallantries,  that  to  this  hour  colour  and  control  many  of  our  habits 
and  institutions.  The  Crusades,  the  tilts,  and  tournaments,  of 
feudal  times,  are  the  theme  of  every  young  and  chivahrous  spirit. 
Nor  is  the  other  limit  less  worthy  of  extraordinary  notice,  when  the 
principal  states  of  Europe,  upon  the  invasion  of  Naples  by  Charles 
VIII.,  engaged  in  relations  of  alliance  or  hostility,  that  may  be  de- 
uced to  the  present  day,  and  form  a  point  at  wludi  every  man  who 
traces  backward  its  political  history  will  be  obliged  to  pause.  But 
even  the  darkness  of  the  middle  ages  is  pregnant  with  lessons  of 
great  moment.  If  during  a  golden  era  we  behold  how  high  man 
may  rise  as  an  intellectual  being,  living,  as  it  were,  in  the  past  and 
in  the  future ;  at  other  times  and  eras,  we  cannot  but  exclaim  how 
irrational,  prostrated,  and  obscured  are  all  his  doings  and  powers  ! 
Nor  can  the  contemplatioa  of  him  in  all  his  honours  be  approached 
by  any  other  view  so  awakening  as  that  of  his  degradation »  In  this 
sense  the  middle  ages  are  of  immense  concern,  presenting  volumes 
of  arresting  facts,  and  suggesting  doctrines  of  surpassing  \  aluc. 


Lwfdt^'s  Caifmet  C^^ksmtiv.  199 

But  to  oooae  to  tkd  Cabinet  CydopaBcUa;  we  had  set  ourselves  to 
^yEBgame  the  table  at  the  beginning  of  the  volume  before  us,  called 
anmlytical  and  chronological y  that,  through  its  aid,  we  might  be 
enabled  speedily  to  close  an  attempt  of  our  own  at  a  graphic  history 
of  the  miadle  ages,  as  they  were  f^Qed  up  by  European  events.  But 
finding  this  table  a  mass  of  confusion,  ana  the  matters  noted  to  be 
singularly  uninteresting  for  a  volume  purporting  to  be  exclusivelv 
devoted  to  England  in  the  dawn  of  her  greatness  (which,  although 
for  a  long  time  dreary,  was  continually  by  degrees  opening  and  ap- 
jproaching  the  glorv  of  her  mid-day  light),  we  travelled  into  the 
volume  itself.  If,  however,  the  contents,  as  indicated  by  this  analy- 
tical tabk,  were  poor  and  sadly  jumbled,  a  direct  perusal  of  them 
conviiiced>us  that  they  had  therein  been  treated  with  ample  justice. 
.So  that,  with  a  strong  persuasion  that  our  preface  and  sketch  de- 
served a  better  union,  and  even  in  despair  of  making  any  thing  of 
the  materials  <rf  this  volume  by  itself,  in  the  way  of  compiling  a 
^x>ngruous  or  int^esting  article  for  our  readers,  notiung  was  left  for 
ua  but  to  level  against  it  our  indiscriminate  blame;  or,  at  least,  if 
tiioe  be  a  single  feature  in  the  volume  deserving  of  praise,  it  is  not 
attributable  to  the  author,  but  in  spite  ci  him. 

It  is  not  possible  that  a  volume  made  up  of  extmcts  and  quota^ 
lions  ficom  Hnnie,  Hallam,  Lingord,  Tomer,  Conybeave,  &c.,  ean 
be  destitute  of  good  things.  But,  in  so  far  as  the  compiler  is  ocm- 
earned,  we  have  found  nothing  tolerable ;  for  every  one  must  per- 
ceive how  bad  judgment  may  ii^ure  exceUeoee  by  certain  juxta-posi- 
tiona  and  dove-tailings,  mamng,  diajointiQg,  and  obscuring,  by 
turns,  whatever  is  handled  or  amnroached.  When  the  author  does 
speak  Ibr  himself  it  ia  in  a  turgid,  or  abrupt,  or  ungrammatical  style, 
that  qpoils  to  the  reader  that  which  is  meant  to  be  said.  We  have 
no  occasion  to  travel  through  the  volume,  anxiously  in  search  of 
faults,  but  may  .take  it  ad  aperhiram^  We  begin  at  the  beginning, 
however,  as  the  most  natural  and  obvious  point,  to  note  a  few,  and 
it  is  only  a  few,  that  we  purpose  to  notice,  of  clumsy,  blundering, 
-and  tasteless  passages.  The  volume  opens  with  a  cbai^  on  the 
inteUeotual  history  of  the  Anglo-Saxcms,  which  is  di^idea  into  three 
Ibrms — ^the  arts  of  life,  literature,  and  science.  The  author  is  mar- 
vellously succinct  with  hid  philosophy  on  the  arts  of  life,  and  we  put 
in. italics  some  of  his  happy  terms.  **  The  first  inventions  of  man 
will  regard  his  actual  wants ;  nor,  until  these  are  satisfied,  will  he 
have  leisure  or  inclination  for  comfinrts,  still  less  for  elegancies.  Of 
these,  the  first  concern  his  food,  and  the  skill  necessary  to  procure 
it.  On  the  cultivation  of  the  ground,  and  the  breeding  of  cattle, 
must  every  social  edifice  be  reared.  That  agriculture  and  rural 
economy  were  much  esteemed  by  the  Saxons  is  evident  from  the 
very  names  of  their  months."  This  is  the  theory—^tbe  first  of  the 
first,  the  simple  and  unique  edifice ^  atid  thai  which  was  much  es- 
teemed by  the  Saxons.    Discerning  men !  Now  for  the  practice  :'^ 


200  Lardiier*s  Cabinet  CyclopmHa. 

"  As  matiual  labour  was  still  exercised,  in  conformity  with  the  rule  of 
St.  Benedict,  by  the  religious,  they  vigorously  commenced  their  herculeaD 
task,  doubly  inspired  by  the  prospect  of  a  comfortable  support,  and  by  the 
motives  of  charity.  In  a  short  time  the  forests  were  felled,  marshes 
drained,  waste  lands  reclaimed,  bridges  erected,  roads  constructed;  plen- 
tiful harvests  started  even  from  the  fens  of  Lincolnshire,  and  waved  even 
on  the  desert  coast  of  Northumberland.  Their  example  stimulated  the 
industry  of  the  lay  proprietors;  and  whatever  improvements  they  intro- 
duced, were  soon  adopted  throughout  the  island. 

"The  produce  of  the  earth  and  the  flesh  of  their"  domestic  animals, 
especiaUy  of  their  brethren  the  swine,  appear  to  have  continued  the  only 
diet  of  the  Saxons,  until  the  time  of  St.  Wilfrid,  who  is  said  to  have  first 
taught  the  natives  of  Sussex  the  art  of  catching  and  cooking  fish.  Tbougii 
this  seems  improbable,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  fish  was  not  a  general 
article  of  food  before  this  time.  Afterwards  it  was  plentiful  enough. 
Of  eels,  especially,  we  read  in  abundance." — ^p.  6, 

How  very  curious  the  starting  even  of  these  plentiful  harvests 
from  the  fens  of  Lincolnshire,  and  waving  even  on  the  desert  coast 
of  Northumberland!  Our  interesting  ancestry^  the  Saxons^  are 
made  too,  to  have  been  honoured  by  a  distinguished  alliance,  wliich 
we  believe  heraldry  has  hitherto  neglected  to  name.  What  an  ia- 
tellectuid  fraternity  must  they  with  the  :swine  have  been  1  for  it  is 
the  intellectual  history  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  that  the  author  is  dia* 
cussing  and  elucidating.  Perhaps  the  eek  had  some  influence  ou 
4iieir  blood ;  since^  as. regarded  their  food,  he  says,  '^  of  eet3,  esper 
cially,  we  read  in  abundance ;"  in  abundance,  what  ?  we  are  not 
told ;  for  though  we  have  not  given  the  latter  part  of  the  sentence, 
it  in  no  way  afiects  the  construction  or  meaning  of  that  quoted. 

We  open  at  the  eighth  page,  and  find  it  said,  that  ^'  the  houses 
even  of  nobles  were  of  wood,'^  and  that  **  those  of  the  rich  appear 
to  have  been  extensive  enough ;  but  they  tong  were  rude^  low,  and 
uncomfortable  All  these  have  long  been  swept  away."  No 
schoolboy  would  long  write  in  this  fashion. 

Here  is  a  piece  of  criticism  on  an  Anglo-Saxon  poem. 

**  Nothing  can  equal  the  poverty  of  this  description, — ^if  that  may  be 
called  description  which  consists  only  of  vain  repetition  or  paraphrastic 
amplifications  of  scripture  language.  Such  repetitions,  such  paraphrastic 
amplifications,  must  have  been  peculiarly  acceptable  to  one  who  was  not 
animated  by  a  single  spark  of  invention.  The  subject  was  enough  to  call 
forth  a  flame,  wherever  genius  glowed." — p.  19. 

Our  author  is  now  upon  the  subject  of  literature,  and  is  severe  in 
his  strictures  on  repetitions  and  amplifications.  He  learnedly  uses 
the  expressions,  sparks  of  invention,  and  call  forth,  a  flame ;  yea, 
this  flame  is  to  come  from  a  genius  that  only  gloves.  But  there  is 
more  to  be  said  to  the  disparagement  of  poor  Caednion,  which 
happens  to  be  the  unlucky  poet's  name. 

''  Rude  as  was  the  age,  we  were  prepared  to  expect  something  better 
.than  this.  If  the  learned  reader  will  compare  the  paraphrase  of  Caed- 
mon  with  the  poems  of  St.  Avitus  of  Vienne,  who  lived  a  century  and 


a  halC  before  the  Saxon;  he  will  be  surprised  at  the  contrast :  the  one  is  all 
n^k^ness,  rude,  sterile,  unimpressive;  the  other  often  catches  a  gleam 
of  the  fire  which  glowed  in  the  breast  of  Virgil." — pp.  19,  20. 

Oar  readers  have  here  a  good  illustration  of  nakedpess  and  ste- 
rility^ notwithstanding  the  attempt  to  lend  them  a  peep  into  Virgil- a 
breast,  which  glowed  with  Jire  that  gleamed. 

The  second  chapter  in  the  volume,  on  the  ReUgious  and  Intellec- 
taal  History  of  England,  from  the  Norman  Conquest  to  the  acces- 
sion of  Henry  VII.,  begins  with  these  precise  terms: — 

.  "  For  the  sake  of  clearness,  no  less  than  the  natural  connection  of  the 
subject,  we  shall  divide  the  present  chapter  into  three  parts.  We  shall 
consider,  I.  The  Chnrch,  and  the  writers  who  are  purely  ecclesiastical. 
II.  Literature.  III.  Philosophy  and  Science.  But  these  subjects  are 
identical,  and  capable  of  classification  not  under  three  heads  but  one.*' — 
p.  135. 

And  yet  the  author  treats  them  under  three  heads. 

We  declare  that  no  part  of  the  volume  is  free  of  such  blunders, 
carelessness,  and  confusion,  as  those  we  have  at  perfect  random  now 
pointed  out.  There  is  a  display  of  notes,  many  of  which  talk  widely 
of  research  and  labour ;  but  what  satis&ction  can  be  obtained  in  a 
work  which  abounds  with  such  stuff  as  these  extracts  present? 
Besides,  the  undue  space  allowed  to  old  poems  and  fragments,  that 
not  one  of  a  thousand  cares  about,  to  the  neglect  of  more  valuable 
materials,  to  which  there  is  easy  access,  or  of  a  tasteful  and  judicious 
condensation  of  that  which  in  detail  is  repulsive,  cannot  be  excused. 

We  shall  relieve  oursdves  and  our  readers  of  the  author's  labours, 
by  quoting  two  long  extracts  which  he  himself  has  transcribed, 
respecting  two  celebrated  men  that  figured  many  centuries  ago  in 
England.  The  first  regards  the  death  of  Bede,  emphatically  called 
the  Venerable,  who  died  in  the  year  735,  and  is  by  his  disciple 
Cuthbert,  who  was  present  at  the  scene. 

'VHe  was  attacked  with  great  difficulty  of  breathing,  yet  without  pain, 
about  two  weeks  before  Easter.  Yet  af^rwards  he  was  joyful  and  merry, 
giving  thanks  imto  God  day  and  night,  nay  hourly,  until  Ascension  day 
arrived.  Daily  did  he  give  lessons  to  us  lus  disciples,  and  the  residue  of 
each  day  he  passed  in  the  singing  of  psalms.  The  whole  night,  except 
when  a  little  slnmber  intervened,  he  watched,  always  joyful,  always  prais- 
ing God.  If  sleep  for  a  moment  overtook  him,  he  did  not  fail,  on  rousing, 
to  resume  his  wonted  devotions,  and  with  outstretched  hands  to  utter  hts 
gratitude  to  heaven.  O  blessed  man  I  Often  did  he  repeat  that  saying 
of  the  apostle  Paul,  It  is  a  fearful  tiung  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living 
God!  and  many  other  passages  of  Scripture,  all  fitted  to  rouse  iis  from 
the  sleep  of  our  minds,  and  to  impress  us  with  our  last  end.  And  some 
things  also  he  spoke  in  our  own,  the  English  language,  for  he  was  well 
versed  in  our  songs:  and  putting  his  thoughts  into  English  verse  he  feel- 
ingly said :  For  so  necessary  a  journey,  no  man  can  be  tooprtuient;  none 
can  reflect  too  much  on  the  good  or  evil  he  has  done;  none  can  be  too 
solicitous  about  the  judgment  which  after  his  death  his  spirit  must 
receive.    According  to  our  custom  and  his  he  sang  the  Antiphonies,  of 


202  ImHrmr'^  CMtmi  O^wUfmih. 

wMcb  one  is,  O  kimg  of  flory,  Lord  of  wiriuei^  who  em  tkii  d^  didit 
triwnpftanify  aseend  to  keaven^Jeame  us  not  orpkani,.bui  samd  Mr  tks 
promise  of  ike  Foiher  the  Spirit  of  Truth!  Alielujal  And  wbcnlke 
eaine  to  the  worda,  leave  w  not  orphans^  he  buist  into  tears  and  wept 
tpucby  and  seeing  this  we  wept  with  him.  Again  we  readt  a^in  we 
wept;  indeed  we  always  wept.  In  such  |(4)dly  employment  we  passed 
the  qninquagesizoal  days  until  the  day  before  mentioned  (Ascension),  he 
rejoicing  and  thanking  God  that  he  was  thus  afflicted.  For  he  often 
repeated :  God  scour geth  every  son  whom  he  receiveth  I  with  many  other 
passages  from  Scripture.  Ana  he  repeated  the  saying  of  St.  Ambrose, 
Non  sie  vixi  ut  me  pudeat  inier  vas  vivere^  ted  nee  mori  Umeo^  quia 
bonum  Dominum  habemm/s.  And  daring  this  time  be  was  oceufied  not 
only  in  teaching  us,  but  on  two  wofks  which  weli  deserve  to  be  remMD- 
bered :  the  first  was  die  Gospel  of  6t.  John,  which  he  had  tnmslated  into 
English  for  the  benefit  of  the  church,  as  far  as  that  passage,  but  what  are 
they  among  so  many?  the  other  consisted  of  extracts  from  the  books  of 
Bishop  Isidore.  *I  do  not  wish  my  disciples  to  read  lies,  that  after  my 
death  they  should  labour  in  vain.'  On  the  arrival  of  the  third  feria  before 
the  Ascension,  his  breathinff  became  more  painful,  and  a  little  swelling 
appeared  in  his  feet.  Yet,  tor  all  that,  he  taught  and  dictated  with  cheer- 
fulness, sometimes  observing,  •^Leam  quickly,  for  I  know  not  how  long  I 
may  live;  how  soon  my  Maker  may  call  mer  To  usf  it  seemed  as  if  he 
well  knew  his  approaching  end.  The  next  night  he  posMd  waMldnf^oad 
giving  thanks.  And  on  the  momnig,  which  was  the  fourth  fcria,  be  told 
us  diligently  to  continue  what  we  had  begun.  Aad  this  being  done^  we 
walked,  as  the  custom  of  the  day  required,  until  the  third  hour,  with  tbe 
relica  of  the  saints.  But  one  of  va  remained  with  him,  and  said  to  him 
*  Dear  Master,  one  little  chapter  yet  remaina:  will  it  not  pain  you  to  be 
aaked  any  more  questiixiB?'— 'Nol  take  thy  pen,  prepare  it,  and  write 
quickly] '  And  this  he  did.  And  at  the  ninthliour  the  master  said  unto 
me,  'I  have  some  precious  things  in  my  little  chest,  some  pepper,  orarias, 
and  incense;  run  quickly  and  bring  the  presbyters  of  our  monastexv,  and 
I  will  distribute  among  them  what  God  has  given  to  me.  The  rich  men 
of  this  world  delight  to  make  presents  of  gold,  silver,  and  other  precious 
things:  I  also  with  much  affection  and  joy  wiU  give  to  my  brethren  the 
gifts  which  I  have  received  from  Heaven/  And  he  addressed  every  one 
by  name,  beseeching  and  admonishing  them  to  say  nasseaaad  to  ]iray  ior 
him,  which  they  willingly  promised.  And  they  all  mourned  and  wept, 
when  he  said  that  they  should  see  his  faoe  no  more  in  this  worid;  U^ttbey 
rejoiced  in  that  he  said,  *  The  time  is  come  when  I  vnusi  return  to  Han 
who  created  me  out  of  nothing!  Long  have  Ilived ;  well  my  merciftil 
Judge  foresaw  the  tenour  of  my  life.  The  time  of  my  departure  iset 
Imnd;  1  long  to  be  dibsolved  and  to  be  with  Christ'  Those  and  tmay 
other  words  he  spoke  with  much  cheerfulness.  And  when  it  drew  to- 
wards evening  the  youth  before  mentioned  said,  *Dear  Master,  one  sen- 
tence yet  remains!' — 'Write  it  quickly  I*  was  the  reply.  Immediately 
afterwards  the  youth  observed,  *  It  is  now  finnshed.'  He  rejoined,  '  Well 
and  truly  hast  thon  spoke;  it  <>  finished  1  Now  tske  my  head  in  thine 
hands,  and  turn  me  towards  the  holy  place  where  I  was  wont  to  franr,  tbatt 
sitting  I  may  call  on  my  Father ! '  Wherefore,  being  hiid  on  the  ftoor  of 
the  cell,  he  chaunted  Gloria  Patri,  et  FUto^  et  Spititw  Sanoto!  And  no 
sooner  had  he  repeated  the  concluding  words  S^ritui  Sanelo^  than  his 


soul  wmged  its  fKglit  to  the  celestial  kingdom.  All  who  witnessed  the 
deHth  of  this  blessed'fkther,  said  that  they  had  never  seen  any  other  man 
end  life  with  such  dcTotion  and  tranquillity.'' — pp.  95 — 97. 

The  second  of  our  extracts  refers  to  Thomas  A  Becket,  and  the 
yeaj  1165.  It  is  well  known  that  Henry  II.  raised  him  from  the 
chancellorship  to  the  primacy  of  Exigland^  calculating  on  his  com- 
pliance in  certain  designs,  that  the  king  cherished,  to  check  the 
usurpations  of  the  clergy ;  but  that  Beoket  withstood  his  coyTd  mas* 
ter,  and  even  intimated  that  it  did  not  become  him  to  intermeddle  in 
the  aiiairs  of  the  church.  The  mptare  between  them  at  last  grew  to 
such  a  vnagnitude  as  to  obliterate  every  thing  like  friendship :  the 
primate^s  dignity  and  haughtiness,  and  the  king's  anger  and  re- 
venge, were  measureless.  Heavy  sums  of  money  were  demanded 
of  the  churchman,  which  he  had  received  from  the  vacant  ecclesias- 
tical dignities  during  his  chancellorship;  the  other  prelates  were 
courtiers,  and  counseled  him  to  submit ;  but  he  braved  the  utmost 
efibrts  of  royal  indignation.  The  following  passage  is  from  Dr. 
Southey's  Book  of  the  Church. 

**  As  soon  as  tiie  bishops  left  faim,  he  went  into  the  churchy  and  there  at 
Bt.  Stephen's  aHar  performed  the  mass  appointed  for  that  martyr's  day, 
bcgimiiiig  with  t^se  words:  Princes  s€Bte  and  spake  against  me:  and  as 
if-thia  did  not. sufficiently  maaifest  his  readiness  to  endure  martyrdcKn,  he 
cansed  a  verse  of  the  psalms  to  he.  snag,  which  could  hot  be  mistaken  as 
to  its  intended  application:  The  kings  of  the  earth  stand  up^  and  the 
riders  take  ctnmsel  together  agatnst  the  Lord  and  against  his  emointed. 
Then,  having  secretly  provided  himself  with  a  consecrated  wafer,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  the  great  council,  and  at  the  door  took  the  silver  cross  from  the 
ehaplaio,  who  according  to  custom  was  bearing  it  before  him.  Then 
pay^ing  OB  he  entered  the  assembly  and  took  his  seat  m  silenca,  holding 
the  cross  before  him.  If  Becket  at  this  time  afitually- thought  his  life 
in  danger,' the  hie  which  he  afterwards  met  may  prove  that  the  appre* 
henaion  was  not  so  unreasonable  as  it  might  otherwise  be  deoned. 
Whether  he  entectained  such  fear  or  not,  it  was  plainly  his  intention  to  aet 
as  if  he  did :  ahoukl  he  provoke  the  blow -which  he  seemed  to  expect,  he  was 
steady  to  meet  it  with  becoiaing  dignity  and  characteristic  conraget  in  the 
more  likely  case  that  the  unusnal  manner  of  his  ai^aranoe  could  confuae 
the  king's  counsels,  something  might  occur  of  which  he  nught  take 
advantage.  Ccnudering,  therefore,  Becket's  teaiper  and  opiitionft,  tibe 
meaaitre  was  as  judicious  as  it  was  bold.  Henry  was  no  sooner  hiformed 
in  what  attitude  the  priest  was  approaching,  then  he  rose  hastily  fn>m  fads 
seat  and  retired  into  an  inaer  room,  whither  he  summoned  ail  the  other 
lords,  spiritual  and  temporal,  and  com^ained  to  them  of  this  aet  ^i  defi- 
ance. The  great  council,  as  well  as  the  king,  regarded  it  as  a  deiibenle 
inanity  studied  lor  the  purpose  oi  throwing  upon  them  the  imputation  of 
some  treacherous  purpose.  Henry's  violent  temper  was  eitasperated  tQ 
such  a  pitch,  that  iJie  Archbosfaopof  York  tnembled  far  Beeket's  life,  and 
departed,  wkh  his  chaplain,  dreading  what  might  ensue.  The  Bishop  c^ 
Exeter  hastened  fesjrfuUy  to  the  primate,  and  besought  him  to  have  pi^ 
on  himself  and  his  brethren,  who  were  all  in  danger  of  perishing  on  his 
acoouut.    Becket,  eyeing  him  with  stern  contempt,  repUed,  '  Fly  then! 


i04  Lardner*9CabiMet  Cyckpaiia. 

thou  canst  not  understand  the  things  which  are  of  God.'  And  tie  re- 
mained unmoved,  holding  the  cross,  and  awaiting  what  might  befal.  His 
part  was  not  difficult  after  it  had  once  been  taken:  the  straight  path  is 
always  easy.  But  Henry  was  thoroughly  perplexed.  The  general  sense 
of  the  great  council  was,  that  the  primate's  present  conduct  was  an 
affront  to  the  king  and  the  peers;  that  Henry  had  drawn  it  on  himself  by 
elevating  such  a  person  to  that  high  and  unmerited  station ;  and  that,  for 
ingratitude  and  breach  of  fealty,  Becket  ought  to  be  impeached  of  perjury 
and  high  treason.  Not  from  moderation,  but  with  the  hope  of  avoiding 
the  embarrassments  which  he  foresaw  in  that  mode  of  proceeding,  Henry 
rejected  their  opinion,  and  reverting  to  his  ])ecuniary  chaises,  sent  to 
demand  of  the  primate  whether  upon  that  matter  he  would  stand  to  the 
judgment  of  the  court.  Becket  peremptorily  refused,  and  it  was  then 
agam  proposed  to  attaint  him.  But  the  bishops  dared  not  proceed  to  this, 
because  he  had  appealed  to  the  pope ;  and  they  knew  the  power  of  the 
Roman  see  too  well  not  to  be  fearful  of  offending  it.  They  besought  the 
king  that  he  would  let  them  appeal  to  Rome  against  the  primate,  on  the 
score  of  his  perjury;  promising,  that  if  they  might  be  excused  from  con- 
curring with  the  temporal  lords  in  the  sentence  which  was  to  bo  past, 
they  would  use  their  utmost  endeavours  for  persuading  the  pope  to  depose 
him  from  the  primacy.  The  king  unwillingly  consented :  upon  which 
they  repaired  to  Becket,  and  pronouncing  him  guilty  of  perjury  at  having 
broken  his  fealty,  they  renounced  their  obeilience  to  him,  placed  them- 
selves under  the  pope's  protection  against  him,  and  cited  him  before  the 
pope  to  answer  the  accusation.  His  only  reply  was,  *  I  hear  what  you 
say  I '  He  could  not  have  had  any  thing  more  conformable  to  his  own 
views  and  wishes.  The  prelates  then  took  their  seats  in  the  opposite  side 
of  the  hall.  Meantime  the  temporal  peers  pronounced  him  guilty  of  per- 
jurv  and  treason;  and  leaving  the  inner  chamber,  where  their  resolution 
had  been  passed,  came  to  notify  it  to  the  accused.  The  alternative,  how- 
ever, of  rendering  his  accounts  and  dischai^ing  the  balance,  was  still  to 
be  allowed  him;  and  Leicester,  as  chief  justiciary,  called  upon  him  to 
come  before  the  king  and  do  this. — 'otherwise,'  said  he,  'hear  yonr 
sentence.'  '  My  sentence,'  exclaimed  Becket,  rising  from  his  seat:  '  Nay, 
sir  earl,  hear  me  first !  You  are  not  ignorant  how  ^tthfully,  according 
to  the  things  of  this  world,  I  served  my  k)rd  the  king,  in  consideration  ^ 
which  service  it  pleased  him  to  raise  me  to  the  primacy, — God  knows, 
against  my  will,  for  I  knew  my  own  unfitness,  and  rather  for  love  of  him 
than  of  God,  consented ;  which  is  this  day  sufficiently  made  evident,  see- 
ing that  God  withdraws  from  me  both  himself  and  the  king  also.  It  was 
asked  at  my  election,  in  presence  of  Prince  Henry,  unto  whom  that 
charge  had  been  committed,  in  what  manner  [  was  g^ven  to  the  church: 
and  the  answer,  free  and  discharged  from  all  bonds  of  the  court.  Being 
therefore  thus  free  and  discharged,  I  am  not  bound  to  answer  concerning 
these  things,  nor  will  L'  The  earl  here  observed,  that  this  reply  was  very 
diiiferimt  from  what  had  before  been  given.  '  Listen,  my  son ! '  Becket 
pursued.  *•  Inasmuch  as  the  soul  is  of  more  worth  Uion  the  body,  by  so 
muchinore  are  you  bound  to  obey  God  and  me,  rather  than  an  earthly 
king.  Neither  by  law  nor  reason,  is  it  allowed  that  cfaiidren  should  judge 
or  condemn  their  father.  Wherefore,  I  disdain  the  king's  judgment  and 
yours,  and  that  of  all  the  other  peers, — ^being  only  to  be  jutted,  under 
God,  by  our  lord  the  pope,  to  whom  I  here  appeal  before  you  all,  com- 


Godunn*s  Lives  of  the  Necromancers.  205 

nritting  thexhurch  of  Canterbury,  my  order  and  dignity,  with  all  there- 
unto appertaining,  to  God's  protection  and  to  his.  In  like  manner,  my 
brethren  and  fellow-bishops,  you  who  have  chosen  to  obey  man  rather 
than  God,  I  cite  you  before  the  presence  of  our  lord  the  pope !  And, 
thus  relying  on  the  authority  of  the  catholic  church,  and  of  the  apostolic 
see,  I  depart  hence  I '  As  he  was  leaving  the  hall,  a  clamour  was  raised 
against  him,  and  some  there  were  reproached  him  as  a  perjured  traitor; 
upon  which  he  looked  fiercely  round,  and  said  with  a  loud  voice,  that 
were  it  not  forbidden  by  his  holy  orders,  he  would  defend  himself  by  arms 
against  those  who  dared  thus  to  accuse  him." — pp.  194 — 196. 

We  have  not  attempted  to  give  any  particular  account  of  this  vo- 
lume of  the  Cabinet  Cyclopaedia,  for  the  reasons  before  stated.  It 
seems  to  us  so  badly  composed^  imperfect,  and  nnsatis&ctory,  that 
we  conld  only  relieve  its  character  by  some  of  the  quotations  the 
author  has  availed  himself  of. 


Art.  VI.    Lives  of  the  Necromancers.     By  Wilujlm  Godwin. 

London :  J.  Mason.  1834. 

Necromancy  is  the  art  of  revealing  future  events  by  a  pretended 
communication  with  the  dead.  There  is  a  theory  that  this  im- 
pious superstition  and  imposture  had  its  origin  at  a  very  early 
period  in  the  land  of  Egypt,  and  had  been  thence  propagated  like 
many  other  arts  in  every  nation  which  ancient  history  has  made  us 
acquainted  with.  Of  its  early  existence  we  have  complete  evidence 
from  the  writings  of  Moses,  where  it  is  severely  condemned  as  an 
abomination  to  the  Lord.  It  appears  to  be  one  of  the  whoredoms 
to  which  Ezekiel  represents  his  countrymen  as  having  brought 
with  them  from  Egypt,  and  continued  to  practise  till  they  were  car- 
ried captives  into  Babylon. 

Phcsnicia,  Greece,  and  Rome,  of  course  e&sily  derived  whatever 
doctrines  and  articles  of  belief  distinguished  the  Egyptians.  In 
these  countries  and  others.  Necromancy  took  such  deep  root  as  to 
be  long  retained  after  the  establishment  of  Christianity,  which  is  so 
directly  calculated  to  dispel  such  a  delusion.  But  we  are  by  no 
means  satisfied  that  it  was  at  first  confined  to  Egypt,  or  that  it 
took  its  rise  in  any  one  country,  and  came  only  to  be  general,  from 
being  conveyed,  like  many  other  arts  and  sciences,  from  that  coun- 
try. Necromancy  seems  a  very  natural  delusion  amongst  an  ignor- 
ant people.  The  awfiil  circumstances  attendant  on  death,  the  silence, 
the  solemnities,  the  darkness,  which  necessarily  surround  the  dead, 
are  such  as  to  awaken  the  most  fancifiil  imaginings.  In  one  shape 
or  other,  we  believe  every  people  yet  discovered  have  believed  in 
some  supernatural  and  malignant  agencies,  that  not  only  con- 
trol the  destinies  of  man,  but  with  whom  certain  of  their  brethren 
held  a  more  than  ordinary  influence  and  connection.  "  No  sooner, " 
as  Mr.  Godwin  says,  '^  do  we  imagine  human  beings  invested  with 
these  wonderful  powers,  and  conceive  them  as  called  into  action  for 
the  most  malignant  purposes,  than  we  become  the  passive  and 


206  Godmih's  Ltoei  of  th%  Nwromancen. 

tenified  slav^B  of  the  creatnres  of  our  own  imaginations^  and  fear  to 
be  assailed  at  every  moment  by  beings  to  whose  power  we  dan  set 
no  limits^  and  whose  modes  of  hostility  no  human  sagacity  can  an* 
ticipate  and  provide  against." 

Still  we  think,  that  the  Egyptians  carried  their  belief  in  Necro- 
mancy to  a  more  elaborate  length,  surroimding  it  with  more  impos- 
ing and  learned  associations  than  any  other  people  of  great  antiquity. 
Tneir  burying  places  were  caves  and  immense  vaults  in  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  which  were  well  suited  to  the  solemn  sadness  of  the 
survivinff  friends,  and  proper  receptacles  for  those  that  were  never 
more  to  behold  the  light.  It  was  no  doubt  firomthis  practice  that  the 
opinion  sprung  which  concluded  that  the  infernal  mansions  were  situ- 
ated somewhere  near  the  centre  of  the  earth,  which  the  Egyptians  be- 
lieved were  not  very  distant  from  its  surface.  In  those  dreary  caverns 
it  was  very  easy  for  such  adepts  as  the  Priests  of  Egypt  to  fabricate 
marvellous  scenes  which  were  displayed  before  the  initiated,  and  by 
them  described  to  the  million  of  the  people.  And  it  was  thas  and 
there  very  probably  that  the  magicians  withstood  Moses,  and  im- 

E)sed  upon  the  people.  Such  at  least,  if  we  remember  rightly,  is 
riant*s  conjecture.  It  is  no  hard  matter  to  understand  how  mir- 
rors might  be  introduced  and  illuminated,  or  how  prepared  objects 
and  responses  should  astonish  all,  not  in  the  secret  of  the  machina* 
tions.  For  it  appears  from  the  book  of  Exodus,  that  the  Israelitish 
women  were  in  the  wilderness  acquainted  with  the  use  of  mirrofs, 
and  therefore  undoubtedly  so  were  the  Egyptians. 

At  the  same  time,  though  much  imposture  was  practised  by  these 
adepts,  it  is  a  no  less  important  fact,  whilst  it  displays  human  nature 
in  a  striking  contrast,  that  '^the  human  creatures  who  pretend  to 
these  powers  have  often  been  found  as  completely  the  dupes  of  thii 
supernatural  machinery,  as  the  most  timia  wreteh  that  stands  in 
terror  at  lis  expected  operation;  and  no  phenomenon  has  been  more 
common  than  the  confession  of  these  allies  of  hell,  that  they  have 
verily  and  indeed  hold  commerce  and  formed  plots  and  conspiracies 
with  Satan : "  even  when  the  confession  brought  these  professors  to 
the  most  appalling  of  deaths.  So  that  there  is  a  great  ignoraiioe 
of  human  nature  discovered  on  the  part  of  those,  who  unifonnly 
impute  pure  hypocrisy  to  the  persons  tliat  practised  the  dark  art. 
The  mind  is  so  ductile,  that  whilst  ''we  trifle  with  the  sacredness 
of  truth,"  we.are  apt  at  length  to  believe  our  own  lie. 

Amongst  the  Israelites,  and  indeed  in  other  and  modem  nations, 
the  Necromancers  evocated  the  ghosts  of  the  dead  by  a  demon  on 
femihar  spirit,  which  they  had  at  their  command,  to  employ  spo&  an 
emergency ;  and  th^efore  Saul  desires  his  servants  to  (hid  a  wdmaii 
who  was  mistress  of  such  a  demon.  Mr.  Gk>dwin  ha»  m  a  lucid 
manner  given  an  account  of  the  various  orders  of  these  praditioners 
in  ancient  and  later  times,  brfore  knowledge  had  scattered  ita  dis« 
coveries  over  the  moral  and  natural  world.     Events  were  constantly 


OodiM»  Lives  of  th$  Neeromcmcmrs,  207 

oaemtrng,  for  wUeb  no  saglkcatiy  was  able  to  assign  a  saliisfiictavy 
eansd. 

«*  Hence  flien  &lt  thenseires  faabitutlly  dispospd  to  rdfer  nimy  of 
the  appeannces  witli  which  they  were  CGnrersant  to  the  agency  of  mvt- 
aible  hatelligences ;  sometimes  under  the  influence  of  a  benignant  ditf^ 
position,  aometimes  cf  malice,  and  sometimeB  perhaps  from  an  inclination 
to  make  themselves  sport  of  the  wonder  and  astonishment  of  ignorant 
mortals.  Omens  and  portents  told  these  men  of  some  piece  of  good  or 
ill  fortune  speedily  to  befal  them.  The  flight  of  birds  was  watched  by 
them,  as  foretokening  somewhat  important.  Thunder  excited  in  them 
a  feeling  of  supernatural  terror.  Eclipses  with  fear  of  change  per- 
plexed the  nations.  The  phenomena  of  the  heaven^,  regular  and  irregu- 
lar, were  anxiously  remarked  from  the  same  princi^e.  During  the 
hours  of  darkness  men  were  apt  to  see  a  supernatural  b^ing  in  every 
bush ;  and  they  could  not  cross  a  receptacle  for  the  dead,  without  ex- 
pecting to  encounter  some  one  of  the  departed  uneasily  wandering  among 
graves,  or  commissioned  to  reveal  somewhat  momentous  and  deeply 
affecting  to  the  survivors.  Fairies  danced  in  the  moonlight  glade ;  and 
something  preternatural  perpetually  occurred  to  fill  the  living  with'  ad- 
miration and  awe. 

'^  All  this  gradually  reduced  itself  into  a  system.  Mankind,  particu*- 
larly  in  the  dark  and  ignorant  ages,  were  divided  into  the  strong  and  the 
weak ;  the  strong  and  weak  of  animal  frame,  when  corporeal  strength 
more  decidedly  bore  sway  than  in  a  period  of  greater  cultivation ;  and 
the  strong  and  weak  in  reference  to  intellect;  those  who  were  bold, 
audacious  and  enterprising  in  acquiring  an  ascendancy  over  their  fellow 
men,  and  those  who  truckled,  submitted,  and  were  acted  lipon,  from  an 
innate  consciousness  of  inferiority,  and  a  superstitious  looking  up  to 
such  as  were  of  greater  natural  or  acquired  endowments  than  themselves. 
The  strong  in  intellect  were  eager  to  avail  themselves  of  their  superi- 
ority, by  means  that  escaped  the  penetration  of  the  multitude,  and  had 
recourse  to  various  artifices  to  effect  their  ends.  Beside  this,  they  be- 
came the  dupes  of  their  own  practices.  They  set  out  at  first  in  their 
conception  of  things  from  the  level  of  the  vulgar,  'they  applied  them- 
selves diligently  to  the  unravelling  of  what  was  unknown;  wonder 
mingled  with  their  contemplation;  they  abstracted  their  tninds  from 
things  of  ordinary  occurrence,  and,  as  we  may  denominate  it,  of  real 
life,  till  at  length  they  lost  their  true  balance  amidst  the  astonishment 
they  sought  to  produce  in  their  inferiors.  They  felt  a  vocation  to  things 
extraordinary ;  and  they  willingly  gave  scope  and  line  without  limit  to 
that  which  engendered  in  themselves  the  most  gratifying  sensations,  at 
the  same  time  that  it  answered  the  purposes  of  their  ambition." — ^pp.  2,  3. 

Man's  ambition  is  boundless^  so  are  his  anxieties ;  and  the  arts 
by  which  he  has  laboured  to  penetrate  into  the  future,  and  to  com- 
mand eventa,  have  been  endless.  Divination  has  been  dextrous  in 
drawing  omens  from  the  entrails  of  beasts  offered  for  sacrifice; 
augury  ill  obaerving4be  flights  of  birds  and  the  sounds  they  utter; 
diuoraanoy  in  inspecting  the  lines  of  the  hand;  physiognomy  in 
exfimnng  the  inher^it  qualities  of  a  man^  and  hence  reading  the 
sort  of  proceedings  he  was  likely  to  engage  in ;  whilst  the  interpre- 
tation of  dreams  seems  to  have  been  the  most  gen^al^  because  the 


3Q8  Godwm*8  Lwes  of  the  NecronlaiKffrs, 

most  natural  mode  of  seeing  into  the  fatttre.  The  casting  of  late; 
astrology  which  flattered  a  man,  inasmuch  as  it  taught  that  the 
heavenly  bodies  were  concerned  in  his  destiny;  and  the  ooBSult&^ion 
of  oracles  deUvered  in  some  place  sacred  to  heavenly  powers,  were 
all  prevailing  practices  in  ancient  times.  A  priestess  delivered  the 
responses  of  the  oracle  at  Delphi,  who  could  only  be  consulted  one 
day  in  every  month. 

"Great  ingenuity  and  contrivance  were  no  doubt  required  to  uphold 
the  credit  of  the  oracle ;  and  no  less  boldness  and  self-collected ness  on  the 
part  of  those  by  whom  the  machinery  was  conducted.     Like  the  conju- 
rors of  nu)dem  times,  they  took  care  to  be  extensively  informed  as  to  all 
such  matters  respecting  which  the  oracle  was  likely  to  be  consulted. 
They  listened  probably  to  the  Pythia  with  a  superstitious  reverence  for 
the  incoherent  sentences  she  uttered.     She,  like  them,  spent  her  life  in 
being;  trained  for  the  office  to  which  she  was  devoted.     All  that  was 
rambling  and  inapplicable  in  her  wild  declamation  they  consigned  to 
oblivion.     Whatever  seemed  to  bear  on  the  question  proposed   they 
preserved.      The  persons  by  whom  the  responses  were  digested  into 
hexameter  verse,  had  of  course  a  commission  attended  with  great  discre- 
tionary  power.     They,  as  Horace  ■  remarks  on  another  occasion,  divided 
what  it  was  judicious  to  say,  from  what  it  was  prudent  to  omit,  dwelt 
upon  one  thing,  and  slurred  over  and  accommodated  another,  just  as 
would  best  suit  the  purpose  they  had  in  hand.     Beside  this,  for  the  most 
part  they  clothed  the  apparent  meaning  of  the  oracle  in  obscurity,  and 
often  devised  sentences  of  ambiguous  interpretation,  that  might  suit  with 
opposite  issues,  whichever  might  happen  to  fall  out.     This  was  perfectly 
consistent  with  a  high  degree  of  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  the  priest. 
However  confident  he  might  be  in  some  things,  he  could  not  but  of  ne- 
cessity feel  that   his   prognostics  were  surrounded  with  uncertainty. 
Whatever  decisions  of  the  oracle  were  frustrated  by  the  event,  and  we 
know  that  there  were  many  of  this  sort,  were  speedily  forgotten ;  while 
those  which  succeeded,  were  conveyed  from  shore  to  shore,  and  repeated 
hy  every  echo.    Nor  is  it  surprising  that  the  transmitters  of  the  sentences 
of  the  God  should  in  time  arrive  at  an  extraordinary  degree  of  sagacity 
and  skill.     The  oracles  accordingly  reached  to  so  high  a  degree  of  repu- 
tation, that,  as  Cicero  observes,  no  expedition  for  a  long  time  was  under- 
taken, no  colony  sent  out,  and  often  no  aifair  of  any  distinguished  family 
or  individual  entered  on,  without  the  previously  obtaining  their  judgment 
and  sanction.     Their  authority  in  a  word  was  so  high,  that  the  first 
fathers  of  the  Christian  church  could  no  otherwise  account  for  a  reputa- 
tion thus  universally  received,  than  by  supposing  that  the  devils  were 
permitted  by  God  Almighty  to  inform  the  oracles  with  a  more  than  hu- 
man prescience,  that  all  the  world  might  be  concluded  in  idolatry  and 
unbelief,  and  the  necessity  of  a  Saviour  be  made  more  apparent.     The 
gullibility  of  man  is  one  of  the  most  prominent  features  of  our  nature. 
Various  periods  and  times,  when  whole  nations  have  as  it  were  with  one 
consent  run  into  the  most  incredible  and  the  grossest  absurdities,  perpe- 
tually offer  themselves  in  the  page  of  liistory;  and  in  the  records  of 
remote  antiquity  it  plainly  appears  that  such  delusions  continued  through 
successive  centuries." — pp.  18 — 20. 

But  to  dive  into  the  secrets  of  futurity  has  not  been  the  only 
daring  attempt  of  mortal  man^  they  have  even  been  ambitious  to 


Qodwin*»  Lives  of  the  Necromancers,  909 

aymmand  future  events.  This  was  sought  through  a  commerce 
vith  the  invisible  world.  And  as  in  Asia  the  Gods  were  divided 
into  the  benevolent  and  malignant^  each  party  had  their  votaries. 
Persons  actuated  -by  benevolence  besought  from  the  benevolent 
powers  blessings  upon  their  fellow-creatures;  while  such  unhappy 
beings^  with  whom  spite  had  the  predominance,  invoked  the  malig- 
nant spirits,  who  it  would  appear  waited  in  eager  hope  till  some 
mortal  reprobate  called  out  their  dormant  agency,  ere  it  could  inflict 
mischief.  Various  enchantments  of  terrific  character  were  therefore 
employed  by  unhappy  mortals  to  obtain  their  aid.  Sorcery  and 
witchcraft  were  the  modes  chiefly  resorted  to  for  controlling  future 
events.  The  sorcerer  was  generally  a  man  of  learning  and  talent, 
and  not  unfrequently  of  respectable  station  in  society;  the  witch  or 
wizard  was  almost  uniformly  old,  decrepid,  and  poor.  In  modem 
times  the  league  assumed  a  more  direful  character,  which  was 
formed  between  the  super-terrestrial  power  aud  the  votary,  than 
belonged  to  it  formerly.  The  witch  or  sorcerer  in  modern  times 
(we  are  compiling  from  the  work  we  have  in  hand)  could  not  secure 
the  assistance  of  the  demon  but  by  a  sure  and  faithftil  compact,  by 
which  the  human  party  purchased  the  vigilant  service  of  his  familiar 
fojr.a  certain  term  of  years,  only  on  condition  when  the  term  was 
expired  that  the  demon  was  to  obtain  possession  of  the  indentured 
party,  and  to  convey  him  irremissibly  and  for  ever  to  the  regions  of 
the  damned.  The  contract  was  drawn  out  in  authentic  form,  signed 
by  the  sorcerer,  and  attested  with  his  blood,  and  was  then  carried 
away  by  the  demon,  to  be  produced  again  at  the  appointed  time. 

'^  These  familiar  spirits  often  assumed  the  form  of  animab,  and  a  black 
dog  or  cat  was  considered  as  a  figure  in  which  the  attendant  devil  was 
secretly  hidden.  These  subordinate  devils  were  called  Imps.  Impure 
and  carnal  ideas  were  mingled  with  these  theories.  The  witches  were 
said  to  have  preternatural  teats  from  which  their  familiars  sucked  their 
blood.  The  devil  also  engaged  in  sexual  intercourse  with  the  witch  or 
wizard,  being  denominated  incubus ,  if  his  favourite  were  a  woman,  and 
succtUfitSy  if  a  man.  In  short,  every  frightful  and  loathsome  idea  was 
carefully  heaped  up  together,  to  render  the  unfortunate  beings  to  whom 
the  crime  of  witchcraft  was  imputed  the  horror  and  execration  of  their 
species." — ^pp.  26,  27. 

The  doctrine  of  witchcraft  taught  that  there  were  certain  com- 
pounds prepared  by  rules  of  art,  that  proved  baneful  to  the  persons 
against  whom  their  activity  was  directed  ;  there  were  also  preser- 
vatives; talismans,  amulets,  and  charms,  which  rendered  a  man 
i^operior  to  injury  from  witchcraft,  and  sometimes  even .  from  any 
mortal  weapon : — 

"  Last  of  all  we  may  speak  of  necromancy,  which  has  something  in  it 
that  so  strongly  takes  hold  of  the  imagination,  that,  though  it  is  one  only 
o£  the  various  modes  which  have  been  enumerated  for  the  exercise  of 
magical  power,  we  have  selected  it  to  give  a  title  to  the  present  volume. 

^*  There  is  something  satored  to  common  apprehension  in  the  repose  of 
the  dead.  They  seem  placed  beyond  our  power  to  disturb.  '  There  is 
BO  wmAi,  nor  device,  nor  knowledge,  nor  wisdom  in  the  grave.* 

VOL.  irt.  (1834.)  NO.  ii.  Q 


210  Godwin* s  Lives  of  the  Necromancers. 

'  After  life's  fitful  fever  they  sleep  veil : 
Nor  steel,  nor  poison, 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing, 
Can  touch  them  further.* 

"  Their  remains  moulder  in  the  earth.  Neither  form  nor  feature  is 
long  continued  to  them.  We  shrink  from  their  touch,  and  their  sight. 
To  violate  the  sepulchre  therefore  for  the  purpose  of  unholy  spells  and 
operations,  as  we  read  of  in  the  annals  of  witchcraft,  cannot  fail  to  be 
exceedingly  shocking.  To  call  up  the  spirits  of  the  departed,  after  they 
have  fulfilled  the  task  of  life,  and  are  consigned  to  their  final  sleep,  is  sacri- 
legious. Well  may  they  exclaim,  like  the  ghost  of  Samuel  in  the  sacred 
story,  '  Why  hast  thou  diaquieted  me  ?' 

"  There  is  a  further  circumstance  in  the  caae,  which  causes  us  addi- 
tionally to  revolt  from  the  very  idea  of  necromancy,  strictly  so  called. 
Man  is  a  mortal,  or  an  immortal  hoing.  His  frame  either  wholly  '  return» 
to  the  earth  as  it  was,  or  his  sjHrit^'  the  thinking  principle  within  him, 
'  to  God  who  gave  it.'  The  latter  is  the  prevailing  sentiment  of  mankind 
in  modern  times.  Man  is  placed  upon  earth  in  a  state  of  probation,  to 
be  dealt  with  hereafter  according  to  the  deeds  done  in  the  flesh.  *  Some 
shall  go  away  into  everlasting  punishment ;  and  others  into  life  eternal/ 
In  this  case  there  is  something  blasphemous  in  the  idea  of  intermeddling^ 
with  the  state  of  the  dead.  We  must  leave  them  in  the  hands  of  God. 
Even  on  the  idea  of  an  interval,  the  '  sleep  of  the  soul'  from  death  to  the 
general  resurrection,  which  is  the  creed  of  no  contemptible  sect  of 
Christians,  it  is  surely  a  terrific  notion  that  we  should  disturb  the  pause, 
which,  upon  that  hypothesis,  the  laws  of  nature  have  assigned  to  the  de> 
parted  soul,  and  com.e  to  awake,  or  to  '  torment  him  before  the  time.* " — 
pp.  27— 2&. 

Before  Mir^  Qodwin  goes  to  the  examples,  and  to  consider  the 
ease  of  particular  individuab,  who^  in  difl^ent  ages  of  the  world, 
have  practised  witchcraft  or  neeromancy,  he  refers  to  the  craft  so 
eagerly  cultivated  in  successive  ages,  which  laboured  to  convert  the 
inferior  metals  into  gold,  and  to  renew  the  youth  of  mortals.  Every 
thing  of  this  kind  tends  to  prove  the  lawless  imaginations  and 
ton^ngs  of  man : — 

"  Men  of  the  most  wonderful  talents  devoted  their  lives  to  the  investi- 
gation ;  and  in  multiplied  instances  the  discovery  was  said  to  have  been 
completed.  Vast  sums  of  money  were  consumed  in  the  fruitless,  endea- 
vour ;  and  in  a  later  period  it  seems  to  have  furnished  an  excellent 
handle  to  vain  and  specious  projectors,  to  extort  money  from  those  more 
amply  jH-ovided  with  the  goods  of  fortune  than  themselves. 

^'  The  art  no  doubt  is  in  itself  sufficiently  mystical,  having  been  pur- 
sued by  multitudes,  who  seemed  to  themselves  ever  on  the  eve  of  con- 
summation, but  as  constantly  baffled  when  to  their  own  apprehension 
most  on  the  verge  of  success.  The  discovery  indeed  appears  upon  the 
lace  of  it  to  be  of  the  most  delicate  nature,  as  the  benefit  must  wholly 
depend  upon  its  being  reserved  to  one  or  a  very  few,  the  object  being 
unbounded  wealth,  which  is  nodiing  unless  confined.  If  the  power  of 
creating  gold  is  diffused,  wealth  by  such  diffusion  becomes  poverty,  and 
every  thing  after  a  short  time  would  but  return  to  what  it  had  been. 
Add  to  which,  that  the  nature  of  discovery  has  ordinarily  been,  that. 


Godunk's  Lives  of  the  NccromaRcers.  211 

when  onoe  the  clue  has  been  found,  it  reveals  itself  to  several  about  the 
same  period  of  time. 

*'  The  art,  as  we  have  said,  is  in  its  own  nature  sufficiently  mystical^ 
depending  on  nice  combinations  and  proportions  of  ingredients,  and  upon 
the  addition  of  each  ingredient  being  made  exactly  in  the  critical  moment, 
and  in  the  precise  degree  of  heat,  indicated  by  the  colour  of  the  vapour 
arising  from  the  crucible  or  retort.  This  was  watched  by  the  operator 
with  inexhaustible  patience ;  and  it  was  often  found  or  supposed,  that  the 
minutest  error  in  this  respect  caused  the  most  promising  appearances  to 
fail  of  the  expected  success.  This  circumstance  no  doubt  occasionally 
gave  an  opportunity  to  an  artful  impostor  to  account  for  his  miscarriage, 
and  thus  to  prevail  upon  his  credulous  dupe  to  enable  him  to  begin  his 
tedious  experiment  again. 

**  But,  beside  this,  it  appears  that  those  whose  object  was  the  transmu- 
tation of  metals,  very  frequently  joined  to  this  pursuit  the  study  of  astro* 
logy,  and  even  the  practice  of  sorcery.  So  much  delicacy  and  nicety 
were  supposed  to  be  required  in  the  process  for  the  transmutation  of 
metals,  tnat  it  could  not  hope  to  succeed  but  under  a  favourable  conjunc- 
tion of  the  planets ;  and  the  most  flourishing  pretenders  to  the  art  boasted 
that  they  had  also  a  familiar  intercourse  with  certain  spirits  of  superna- 
tural power,  which  assisted  them  in  their  undertakings,  and  enabled  them 
to  pcnetr.ite  into  things  undiscoverable  to  mere  human  sagacity,  and  to 
predict  future  events.'* — pp.  30 — 32. 

Mr.  Godwin  first  takes  up  the  examples  of  necromancy  and 
witchcraft  from  the  Bible^  with  which  it  is  presomed  all  our  readers 
are  oonyorsant,  and  therefore  we  proceed  to  Greece  for  iUastrations, 
leaving  behind  a  great  deal  of  interesting  matter  respecting  Egypt 
and  Cbaldea.  Under  this  head  th^e  is  no  lack  of  materials^  for 
not  only  were  the  wonderfiil  things  of  early  Greece  more  frequent 
than  the  sober  iacts;  but  the  poets  and  annalists  of  that  land  have 
handed  down  to  us  the  memory  of  their  tastes^  manners,  and  su- 
perstitions^ their  strength  and  weakness.  We  have  never  met  with 
6o  clear  and  satisfactory  a  sketch  of  the  genius,  accomplishments, 
and  conduct  of  Pythagoras  as  is  now  before  us,  who  was  the  first 
person  that  assumed  the  name  of  philosopher,  or  a  lover  of  wis- 
dom, instead  of  sophibt  or  professor  of  wisdom,  which  had  pre- 
viously been  in  vogue  amongst  the  instructors  in  Greece.  Yet  with^ 
all  this  modesty,  and  all  his  real  wisdom  and  acquirements,  he  was 
weak  or  wicked  enough  to  be  a  quack,  and  a  pretei^er  to  super- 
natural endowments : — ' 

''To  give  the  greater  authority  and  effect  to  his  communications, 
Pythagoras  hid  himself  during  the  day  at  least  from  the  great  body  of 
his  pupils,  and  was  only  seen  by  them  at  night.  Indeed  there  is  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  any  one  was  admitted  into  his  entire  familiarity.  When 
he  came  forth,  he  appeared  in  a  long  garment  of  the  purest  white,  with  a 
flowing  beard,  and  a  garland  upon  his  head.  He  is  said  to  have  been  of 
the  finest  symmetrical  form,  with  a  majestic  carriage,  and  a  grave  and 
awful  countenance.  He  suffered  his  followers  to  beheve  that  he  was  one 
of  the  Gods,  the  Hyperborean  Apollo,  and  is  said  to  have  told  Abaris  that 
he  assumed  the  human  form,  that  he  might  the  better  invite  men  to  an 

q2 


212  Godwin* 8  Lives  of  the  Necromancers. 

easiness  of  appronch  and  to  confidence  in  him.  What  howeyer  seems  to 
be  agreed  in  by  all  his  biog^raphers  is,  that  he  professed  to  have  already  in 
different  ages  appeared  in  the  likeness  of  man :  first  as  JBthalides,  the  son 
of  Mercury;  and,  when  his  father  expressed  himself  ready  to  invest  him 
with  any  gift  short  of  immortality,  he  prayed  that,  as  the  buman  soul  is 
destined  successively  to  dwell  in  various  forms,  he  might  have  the  pri- 
vilege in  each  to  remember  his  former  state  of  being,  which  was  granted 
him.  From  iEthalides  he  became  Euphorbus,  who  slew  Patroclus  at  the 
siege  of  Troy.  He  then  appeared  as  Hermotimus,  then  Pyrrhus,  a  fisher- 
man of  Delos,  and  finally  Pythagoras.  He  said  that  a  period  of  time  was 
interposed  between  each  transmigration,  during  which  he  visited  the  seat 
of  departed  souls ;  and  he  professed  to  relate  a  part  of  the  wonders  he  had 
seen.  He  is  said  to  have  eaten  sparingly  and  in  secret,  and  in  all  respects 
to  have  given  himself  out  for  a  being  not  subject  to  the  ordinajy  laws  of 
nature.*' — pp.  83,  84. 

He  pretended  to  miraculous  powers;  delusion  and  falsehood 
M'ere  main  features  of  his  instruction^  which  tended  to  make  his 
valuable  efforts  perishable : — 

**  It  is  difRcult  to  imagine  any  thing  more  instructive,  and  fhore  preg* 
nant  with  matter  for  salutary  reflection,  than  the  c<mtrast  presented  to 
us  by  the  character  and  system  of  action  of  Pythagoras  on  the  one  hand, 
and  those  of  the  great  enquirers  of  the  last  two  centuries,  for  example. 
Bacon,  Newton,  and  Locke,  on  the  other.  Pythagoras  probably  does  not 
yield  to  any  one  of  these  in  the  evidences  of  true  intellectual  greatness. 
In  his  school,  in  the  followers  he  trained  resembling  himself,  and  in  the 
salutary  effects  he  produced  on  the  institutions  of  the  various  republics 
of  Magna  Graecia  and  Sicily,  he  must  be  allowed  greatly  to  have  excelled 
them.  His  discoveries  of  various  propositions  in  geometiy,  of  the  earth 
as  a  planet,  and  of  the  solar  system  as  now  universally  recognised,  clearly 
stamp  him  a  genius  of  the  highest  order. 

'*  He  was  probably  much  under  the  influence  of  a  contemptible  jealousy, 
and  must  be  considered  as  desirous  that  none  of  his  contemporaries  or 
followers  should  eclipse  their  master.  All  was  oracular  and  dogmatic  in 
the  school  of  Pythagoras.  He  prized  and  justly  prized  the  greatness  of 
his  attainments  and  discoveries,  and  had  no  conception  that  any  thing 
could  go  beyond  them.  He  did  not  encourage,  nay,  he  resolutely  opposed, 
all  true  independence  of  mind,  and  that  undaunted  spirit  of  enterprise 
which  is  the  atmosphere  in  which  the  sublimest  thoughts  are  most  na- 
turally generated.  He  therefore  did  not  throw  open  the  gates  of  science 
and  wisdom,  and  invite  every  comer ;  but  on  the  contrary  narrowed  the 
entrance,  and  carefully  reduced  the  number  of  aspirants.  He  thought 
not  of  the  most  likely  methods  to  give  strength  and  permanence  and  an 
extensive  sphere  to  the  progress  of  the  human  mind.  For  these  reasons 
he  wrote  nothing;  but  consigned  all  to  the  frail  and  uncertain  custody  of 
tradition.  And  distant  posterity  has  amply  avenged  itself  upon  the  nar- 
rowness of  his  policy ;  and  the  name  of  Pythagoras,  which  would  other- 
wise have  been  ranked  with  the  first  luminaries  of  mankind,  and  consigned 
to  everlasting  gratitude,  has  in  consequence  of  a  few  radical  and  fatal 
mistakes,  been  often  loaded  with  obloquy,  and  the  hero  who  bore  it  been 
indiscriminately  classed  among  the  votaries  of  imposture  and  artifice.'* — 
^p.  89—92. 


Godwin's  Lives  of  the  Necromancers.  213 

Socrates,  the  theme  of  modem  panegyric,  of  youthful  admiration 
in  ac^emies^  had  his  weaknesses  and  absurdities. 

^*  He  said  that  he  repeatedly  received  a  divine  premonition  of  dangera 
impending  over  himself  and  others ;  and  considerable  pains  have  been 
taken  to  ascertain  the  cause  and  author  of  these  premonitions*  Several 
persons,  among  whom  we  may  include  Plato,  have  conceived  that  So- 
crates regarded  himself  as  attended  by  a  supernatural  guardian  who  at 
all  times  watched  over  his  welfare  and  concerns. 

"  But  the  solution  is  probably  of  a  simpler  nature.  Socrates,  with  all 
his  incomparable  excellencies  and  perfections,  was  not  exempt  from  the 
superstitions  of  his  &ge  and  country.  He  had  been  bred  up  among  the 
absurdities  of  polytheism.  In  them  were  included,  as  we  have  seen,  a 
profound  deference  for  the  responses  of  oracles,  and  a  vigilant  attention 
to  portents  and  cmens.  Socrates  appears  to  have  been  exceedingly  re- 
gardful of  omens.  Plato  tells  us  that  this  intimation,  which  he  spoke  of 
as  his  demon,  never  prompted  him  to  any  act,  but  occasionally  inter- 
fered to  prevent  him  or  his  friends  from  proceeding  in  any  thing  that 
woidd  have  been  attended  with  injurious  consequences.  Sometiipes  he 
described  it  as  a  voice,  which  no  one  however  heard  but  himself;  and 
sometimes  it  showed  itself  in  the  act  of  sneezing.  If  the  sneezing  came, 
when  he  was  in  doubt  to  do  a  thing  oi  not  to  do  it,  it  confirmed  him ; 
but  if,  being  already  engaged  in  any  act,  he  sneezed,  this  he  con- 
sidered as  a  warning  to  desist.  If  any  of  his  friends  sneezed  on  his  right 
hand,  he  interpreted  this  8S  a  favourable  omen ;  but,  if  on  his  left,  he 
immediately  relinquished  his  purpose.  Socrates  vindicated  his  mode  of 
expressing  himself  on  the  subject,  by  saying  that  others,  when  they  si)okG 
of  omens,  for  example,  by  the  voice  of  a  bird,  said  the  bird  told  me  this, 
but  that  he,  knowing  that  the  omen  was  purely  instrumental  to  a  higher 
power,  deemed  it  more  religious  and  respectful  to  have  regard  only  to. 
the  higher  power^  and  to  say  that  God  had  graciously  warned  him."' — 

pp.  114r-116. 

The  Roman  poets  and  historians  give  many  examples  of  Sorcery, 
and  when  we  come  down  to  the  era  of  the  Christian  religion,  there  is 
irrefragable  testimony  of  the  existence  of  the  art.  Our  Saviour  to 
the  charge  that  he  did  '^not  cast  out  devils,  but  by  Belzebub,  the 
prince  of  the  devils/'  asks  the  Pharisees  in  return  '^  by  whom  do  your: 
children  oast  them  out?"  Then  we  have  an  account  of  Simon 
Magus  and  Elymas,  as  spoken  of  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  We 
wish  that  the  author  had  made  some  observation  on  the  subject  of 
casting  out  Devils^  between  the  achievements  of  our  Saviour  and  the 
Sorcerers  of  hia  time.  What  those  devils  were,  and  how  they  pos- 
sessed mankind^  Mr.  Godwin^  so  far  as  we  have  seen,  does  not 
attempt  to  describe;  and  herein  doubtless  he  does  wisely.  Any 
account  or  solution  upon  human  and  ordinary  principles,  such  as 
modem  science  has  discovered,  is  much  better  left  out ;  for  whilst  as 
we  are  no  advocates  for  imposture  and  superstition^  we  think  there  are 
many  things  which  human  philosophy  has  not  and  cannot  reach. 
The  whole  history  of  our  Saviour  and  of  Christianity  is  clearly 
beyond  and  above  any  discovery  by  the  mere  power  of  reason. 


214  Godwin* 8  Lives  of  the  Necromaners, 

Necromancy  as  an  art  cannot  be  characterized  aa  more  impious 
than  it  is.  Still  the  intercourse  said  to  exist  between  earthly  and 
unearthly  beings,  though  it  has  in  most  cases  that  have  been  care- 
felly  investigated  turned  out  to  be  but  imposture  or  delusion  on  the 
part  of  wicked  or  weak  mortals,  may  for  any  thing  we  know 
have  been  permitted  by  the  Almighty  at  times  in  a  manner,  and 
for  purposes  of  which  we  cannot  be  cognizant.  Nor  do  we  think  it 
argues  superior  wisdom  to  make  one  sweeping  declaration  to  the 
contrary.  One  thing  however  is  manifest,  that,  as  knowledge  in- 
creases, a  belief  in  supernatural  agencies,  such  as  witchcraft  sup- 
poses, decreases :  nay,  not  to  ask  for  high  philosophical  attain- 
ments, where  the  Bible  is  the  record  chiefly  admired  and  consulted, 
every  dark  and  wicked  belief  or  practice  wUl  have  the  slightest  hold 
on  the  mind.  In  perfect  accordance  with  this  view  is  the  fact 
mentioned  by  our  author,  that  the  establishment  of  Christianity  in 
the  Roman  empire  produced  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  Necroman- 
cy.  IJnder  the  reign  of  Polytheism  devotion  was  wholly  unre- 
strained in  every  direction  it  might  chance  to  assume.  God's  known 
and  unknown,  the  spirits  of  departed  heroes,  the  gods  of  heaven 
and  hell,  abstractions  of  virtue  and  vice,  might  unblamed  be  made 
the  objects  of  religious  worship.  Witchcraft  therefore,  and  the  invo- 
cation of  the  spirits  of  the  dead,  might  be  practised  with  toleration. 
But  under  the  creed  of  the  unity  of  the  divine  nature  the  case  was 
exceedingly  different. 

"  There  was  no  medium  between  the  worship  of  heaven  and  hell.  All 
adoration  was  to  be  directed  to  God  the  Creator  through  the  mediation 
of  his  only  begotten  Son ;  or,  if  prayers  were  addressed  to  inferior  beings, 
and  the  glorified  spirits  of  his  saints,  at  least  they  terminated  in  the  Most 
High,  were  a  deprecation  of  his  wrath,  a  soliciting  his  favour,  and  a 
homage  to  his  omnipotence.  On  the  other  hand  sorcery  and  witchcraft 
were  sins  of  the  blackest  dye.  In  opposition  to  the  one  only  God,  the 
creator  of  heaven  and  earth,  was  the  '  prince  of  darkness/  the  •  prince  of 
the  power  of  the  air,*  who  contended  perpetually  against  the  Almighty, 
and  sought  to  seduce  his  creatures  and  his  subjects  from  their  due  allegi- 
ance. Sorcerei*9  and  witches  were  supposed  to  do  homage  and  sell 
themselves  to  the  devil,  than  which  it  was  not  in  the  mind  of  man  to 
conceive  a  greater  enormity,  or  a  crime  more  worthy  to  cause  its  perpe- 
trators to  be  exterminated  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  The  thought  of  it 
was  of  power  to  cause  the  flesh  of  man  to  creep  and  tingle  with  horror : 
and  such  as  were  prone  to  indulge  their  imaginations  to  the  utmcat  ex- 
tent of  the  terrible,  found  a  perverse  delight  in  conceiving  this  depravity, 
and  were  but  too  much  disposed  to  fasten  it  upon  their  fellow  creatures," 
—pp.  172,  173. 

After  tracing  necromancy  in  the  eastern  parts  of  the  world, 
and  comparing  the  resemblance  of  the  tales  there  invented  witU 
those  of  Europe,  he  comes  to  the  dark  ages  that  were  so  remark- 
able in  the  latter  quarter,  when  reigned  "  the  sabbath  of  magic  €md 
sorcery,"  and  gloom  enveloped  the  minds  of  men.  Doubtless  that 
was  the  grand  season  of  superstition  and  mystery,  especially  from 


Godwin's  Lives  of  the  Necromancers.  S15 

the  clos«  of  the  fourth  century  to  that  of  the  eleventh,  though  of 
that  period,such  was  the  degree  of  its  ignorance  and  barbarism,  that 
we  have  only  the  scantiest  records  to  go  by.  Merlin,  near  the  com- 
mencement of  this  era,  and  St.  Dunstan  towards  its  close,  were 
the  most  celebrated  magicians  in  England.  Many  other  well 
known  names  point  out  men  who  were  eminent  professors  of  the 
same  art  before  the  revival  of  letters  j  nor  did  the  dawn  of  intellect- 
tual  freedom  and  literature  for  a  long  time  produce  their  foil  efiect. 
'^  And  then,  as  is  apt  to  occur  in  such  cases,  the  expiring  folly  oc- 
casionally gave  tokens  of  its  existence,  with  a  convulsive  vehe- 
mence, and  became  only  the  more  picturesque  and  impressive 
through  the  strong  contrast  of  lights  and  shadows  that  attended 
its  manifestations."  Many  of  the  professors  and  practitioners  in 
the  unholy  art  of  magic  and  sorcery  were  singularly  eminent  either 
as  respected  talents  or  accomplishments.  Joan  of  Arc,  whose  case 
is  familiar  to  every  reader  of  history,  seems  to  have  been  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  persons  during  the  fifteenth  century  in  all 
Europe,  and  to  have  firmly  believed  that  she  saw  visions  and  held 
communications  with  the  saints ;  whilst  her  enemies  believed  that 
she  was  in  league  with  the  devil  against  them. 

Our  author  proceeds  to  consider  the  frightfully  sanguinary  pro- 
ceedings that  were  followed  out  against  witchcraft,  which  consti- 
tutes one  of  the  most  instructive  parts  of  the  work,  and  an  essen- 
tial branch  in  the  science  of  human  nature.  For  in  the  fifteenth 
century  things  took  a  new  turn.  The  ecclesiastical  authorities  be- 
lieved that  the  sin  of  heretical  pravity  was  **  as  the  sin  of  witch- 
craft ;"  they  regarded  them  alike  with  horror,  and  were  persuaded 
that  there  was  a  natural  consent  and  alliance  between  them.  So 
that  the  precise  passage  from  ill  to  better  was  more  calamitous  and 
fiill  of  enormities,  "  than  the  period  when  the  understanding  was 
completely  hoodwinked,  and  men  digested  absurdities  and  impossi- 
bilities with  as  much  ease  as  their  every  day  food.'*  A  few  more 
cases  are  cited  of  persons  who  seem  to  have  been,  in  part  at  least, 
the  victims  of  their  own  delusions.  And  not  the  lightest  name  is 
that  of  Luther,  although  he  is  not  mentioned  as  at  all  implicated 
in  the  question  of  necromancv ;  but  to  shew  the  delusions  that 
heated  imaginations  in  those  times  were  subject  to.  But  the  in- 
stance is  especially  wonderful,  belonging  as  it  docs  to  a  person 
of  so  masculine  a  mind  as  that  illustrious  reformer  assuredly 
possessed : — 

'*  It  appears  from  his  Treatise  on  the  Abuses  attendant  on  Private 
Masses,  th.it  he  had  a  conference  with  the  devil  on  the  subject.  He  says, 
that  this  supernatural  personage  caused  him  by  his  visits  *  many  bitter 
nights  and  much  restless  and  wearisome  repose.'  Once  in  particular  he 
came  to  Luther,  *  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  when  he  was  just  awaked  out  of 
sleep.  The  devil,'  he  goes  on  to  say, '  knows  well  how  to  construct  his 
arguments,  and  to  urge  them  with  the  skill  of  a  master.  He  delivers 
himself  with  a  grave,  and  yet  a  shrill  voice.     Nor  does  he  use  circumlo- 


216  Godwin* 9  Lives  of  the  Necromancers. 

xutions,  find'  beat  about  the  bush,  but  excels  in  forcible  statements  and 
quick  rejoinders.  I  no  longer  wonder/  he  adds, '  that  the  persons  whom  he 
assails  in  this  way,  are  occasionally  found  dead  in|their  beds.  He  is  able 
to  compress  and  throttle,  and  more  than  once  he  has  so  assaulted  me  and 
driven  my  soul  into  a  comer,  that  I  felt  as  if  the  next  moment  it  must 
leave  my  body.  I  am  of  opinion  that  Gesner  and  Oecolampadius  and 
others  in  that  manner  came  by  their  deaths.  The  deviPs  manner  of 
opening  a  debate  is  pleasant  enough ;  but  he  urges  things  so  peremp- 
torily, that  the  respondent  in  a  short  time  knows  not  how  to  acquit 
himself.*  He  elsewhere  says,  *  The  reasons  why  the  sacrameutarians 
understood  so  little  of  the  Scriptures  is,  that  they  do  not  encounter  the 
true  opponent,  that  is,  thedeviU  who  presently  drives  one  up  in  a  comer, 
and  thus  makes  one  perceive  the  just  interpretation.  For  my  part  I  am 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  him,  and  have  eaten  a  bushel  of  salt  with 
him.  He  sleeps  with  me  more  frequently,  and  lies  nearer  to  me  in  bed, 
than  my  own  wife  does." — pp. — 321 — 322 

Our  author  next  proceeds  to  the  consideration  of  such  examples, 
who  with  minds  perfectly  disengaged  and  free,  have  applied 
themselves  to  concert  the  means  of  over-reaching  the  simplicity, 
or  baiQing  the  penetration  of  those^  who  ^  were  merely  spectators, 
and  uninitiated  in  the  mystery  of  the  arts  that  was  practised  upon 
them.  The  ma^c  lantern,  which  is  now  the  amusement  only  of  school- 
boys or  servant-maids,  and  other  ingenious  contrivances,  which  are 
now  not  more  than  the  tricks  of  the  most  ordinary  conjuror,  were 
the  means  by  which  these  quack  magicians  astonished  the  specta* 
tors.  It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  though  James  the  First  of 
England  in  his  younger  years,  wrote  a  work  on  demonology,  he 
lived  to  alter  his  mind  greatly  on  the  question,  and  at  last  flatly  to 
declare  the  working  of  witches  and  devils  to  be  but  falsehoods  and 
delusions. 

Yet  such  was  the  credulity  of  the  people  in  England,  as  late  as 
the  year  1647,  that  Matthew  Hopkins  published  a  pamphlet,  as- 
suming to  himself  the  surname  of  the  witchfinder.  Upon  whose  in- 
formation many  unhappy  persons  were  subjected  to  torture  and  to 
horrible  modes  of  death.  He  ultimately,  however,  met  with  de- 
served punishment: — 

"  The  fate  of  Hopkins  was  such  as  might  be  expected  in  similar  cases. 
The  multitude  are  at  first  impressed  with  horror  at  the  monstrous  charges 
that  are  advanced.  Thejr  are  seized,  as  by  contagion,  with  terror  at  the 
mischief?  which  seem  to  impend  over  them,  and  from  which  no  innocence 
and  no  precaution  appear  to  afford  them  sufficient  protection.  They 
hasten,  as  with  an  unanimous  effort,  to  avenge  themselves  upon  these 
malignant  enemies,  whom  God  and  man  alike  combine  to  expel  from 
society.  But  after  a  time,  they  begin  to  reflect,  and  to  apprehend  that 
they  have  acted  with  too  much  precipitation,  that  they  have  been  led  on 
with  uncertain  appearances.  They  see  one  victim  led  to  the  gallows  after 
another,  without  stint  or  limitation.  They  see  one  dying  with  the  mogt 
solemn  asseverations  of  innocence,  and  another  confessing  apparently  she 
knows  not  what,  what  is  put  into  her  mouth  by  her  relentless  perbccutors 


GodmkC$  Lh>e9  of  the  Necromancers.  217 

They  see  these  victims^  old,  crazy  and  impotent,  hanassed  beyond  endn* 
rance  by  the  iogehius  cruelties  that  are  practised  against  them.  •  They 
were  first  urgc3  on  by  implacable  hostility  and  fury,  to  be  satisfied  with 
nothing  but  blood.  But  humanity  and  remorse  also  have  their  turn. 
JDissatisfied  with  themselves,  they  are  glad  to  point  their  resentment 
against  another.  The  man  that  at  first  they  hailed  as  a  public  bene&ctor, 
they  presently  come  to  regard  with  jealous  eyes,  and  beg^n  to  consider  as 
a  cunning  impostor,  dealing  in  cool  blood  with  the  lives  of  his  fellow- 
creatures  for  a  paltry  g^in,  and,  still  more  horrible,  for  the  lure  of  a 
perishable  and  short-lived  feune.  .  The  multitude,  we  are  told,  after  a  few 
seasons,  rose  upon  Hopkins,  and  resolved  to  subject  him  to  one  of  his  own 
criterions.  They  dragged  him  to  a  pond,  and  threw  him  into  the  water 
for  a  witch.  It  seems  he  floated  on  the  surfeice,  as  a  witch  ought  to-do. 
They  then  pursued  him  with  hootings  and  revilings,  and  drove  him  for 
ever  into  that  obscurity  and  ignominy  which  he  had  amply  merited." 

The  last  story  we  shall  quote  from  Mr.  Godwin's  work  respects 
a  very  remarkable  personage,  which  strikingly  displays  the  cre- 
dulity of  the  period  it  belongs  to : — 

"  It  takes  its  date  from  the  morning  of  the  third  of  September,  1651, 
when  Cromwel  g^ned  the  battle  of  Worcester  against  Charles  the  Second, 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  call  by  a  name  sufficiently  significant,  his 

*  crowning  victory.'  It  is  told  on  the  authority  of  a  Colonel  Lindsey, 
who  is  said  to  have  been  an  intimate  friend  of  the  usurper,  and  to  have 
been  commonly  known  by  that  name,  as  being  in  reality  the  senior  cap- 
tain in  Cromwei's  own  regiment.  '  On  this  memorable  morning,  the  gen- 
eral,' it  seems,  '  took  this  officer  with  him  to  a  woodside  not  far  from 
the  army,  and  bade  him  alight,  and  follow  him  into  that  wood,  and  to  take 
particular  notice  of  what  he  saw  and  heard.  After  having  alighted,  and 
secured  their  horses,  and  walked  some  little  way  into  the  wood,  Lindsey 
began  to  turn  pale,  and  to  be  seized  with  horror  from  some  unknown 
cause.  Upon  which  Cromwel  asked  him  how  he  did,  or  how  he  felt  him^o 
self.  He  answered,  that  he  was  in  such  a  trembling  and  consternation, 
that  he  had  never  felt  the  like  in  all  the  conflicts  and  battles  he  hiid  ever 
been  eng^ed  in  :  but  whether  it  proceeded  from  the  gloominess  of  the 
place,  or  the  temperature  of  his  body,  he  knew  not.  '  How  now  ?*  said 
Cromwel,  *  What,  troubled  with  the  vapours  ?  Come  forward,  man.' 
They  had  not  gone  above  twenty  yards  further,  before  lindsey  on  a  sud- 
den stood  still,  and  cried  out,  '  By  all  that  is  good  I  am  seized  with  such 
unaccountable  terror  and  astonishment,  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  stir 
one  step  further.'  Upon  which  Cromwel  called  him, '  Faint-hearted  fool  I' 
and  bade  him,  '  stand  there,  and  observe,  or  be  witness.'  And  then  the 
general,  advancing  to  some  distance  from  him,  met  a  grave  elderly  man, 
with  a  roll  of  parchment  in  his  hand,  who  delivered  it  to  Cromwel,  and  he 
eagerly  perused  it.  Lindsey,  a  little  recovered  from  his  fear,  heard  seve- 
ral loud  words  between  them :  particularly  Cromwel  said,  *  This  is  but 
for  seven  years ;  I  was  to  have  had  it  for  one-and-twenty ;  and  it  must, 
and  shall  be  so.'  The  other  told  him  positively,  it  could  not  be  for  more 
than  seven.  Upon  which  Cromwel  cried  with  great  fierceness,  *  It  shall 
however  be  for  fourteen  years.'      But  the  other  peremptorily  declared, 

*  It  could  not  possibly  be  for  any  longer  time  ;  and,  if  he  would  not  take 
it  so,  there  were  others  that  would.'     Upon  which  Cromwel  at  last  took 


218  Godwin* 8  Lives  of  the  Necromancer^. 

the  parchment :  and  returning  to  Lindsey,  with  great  joy  in  his  ooiinte- 
nGince,  he  cried,  ^  Now,  Lindsey,  the  hattle  is  our  own  I  1  long  to  be  en« 
gaged/  Returning  out  of  the  wood,  they  rode  to  the  army,  Cromwel 
with  a  resolution  to  engage  as  soon  as  possible,  and  the  other  with  a  design 
to  leave  the  army  as  soon.  After  the  first  charge,  Lindsey  deserted  his  post, 
and  rode  away  with  all  possible  speed  day  and  night,  till  he  came  into  the 
county  of  Norfolk,  to  the  house  of  ah  intimate  friend,  one  Mr.  Thorough- 
good,  minister  of  the  parish  of  Grimstone.  Cromwel,  as  soon  as  he 
missed  him,  sent  all  ways  after  him,  with  a  promise  of  a  great  reward  to 
any  that  should  bring  him  alive  or  dead.  When  Mr.  Thoroughgood  saw 
his  friiend  Lindsey  come  into  his  yard,  his  horse  and  himself  much  tired, 
in  a  sort  of  a  maze,  he  said,  *  How  now,  colonel  ?  We  hear  there  is  likely 
to  be  a  battle  shortly :  what,  fled  from  your  colours  ?'  *  A  battle^'  said 
the  other ;  '  yes  there  has  been  a  battle,  and  I  am  sure  the  king  is  beaten. 
But,  if  ever  I  strike  a  stroke  for  Cromwel  again,  may  I  perish  eternally  I 
For  I  am  sure  he  has  made  a  league  with  the  devil,  and  the  devil  will 
have  him  in  due  time.'  Then,  desiring  his  protection  from  Cromwel's 
inquisitors,  he  went  in,  and  related  to  him  the  story  in  all  its  circum- 
stances.' It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remind  the  reader,  that  Cromwel 
died  on  that  day  seven  years,  September  the  third,  1658. 

"Echard  adds,  to  prove  his  impartiality  as  an  historian,  *How  far 
Lindsey  is  to  be  believed,  and  how  far  the  story  is  to  be  accounted  incre- 
dible, is  left  to  the  reader's  faith  and  judgment,  and  not  to  any  determina- 
tion of  our  own.' "  pp.  436 — 440. 

It  is  a  reflection  upon  the  progress  of  knowledge  and  illumina- 
tion in  England^  that  it  was  not  till  the  year  1786,  that  a  statute 
was  passed^  repealing  the  law  made  in  the  first  year  of  James  I, 
which  had  made  sorcery  or  enchantment  a  capital  offence^  and  sub- 
stituting a  punishment  such  as  appertained  to  a  misdemeanor :  a 
law  which  by  many  years  had  been  preceded  by  an  order  of  the 
council  of  state  in  France,  forbidding  tribunals  from  proceeding  to 
judgment  in  cases  where  the  accusation  was  of  sorcery  only.  Mr. 
Godwin  therefore  quits  this  subject  at  a  period  when  the  more  en*^ 
lightened  governments  of  Europe  obUterated  the  sanguinary  laws 
that  pursued  this  imaginary  crime.  And  from  the  outline  of  the 
work,  our  readers  will  perceive  that  he  has  executed  his  task  with 
singular  clearness,  lending  it  the  great  attraction  of  a  mind  fully 
versant  on  the  subject,  and  of  a  tciste  and  style  admirably  suited  to 
it.  Nor  is  the*sunplicity  and  comprehensiveness  of  his  philosophy 
more  apparent,  than  tne  spirit  of  humanity  that  pervades  the 
whole.  He  rejoices  at  the  light  that  has  in  the  latter  days  be^n  shed 
abroad  over  our  land,  while  he  weeps  at  the  thought  of  our  fore* 
fathers,  besides  the  iUs  of  this  sublunary  state,  having  been  ha<* 
xassed  with  imaginary  terrors.  Mr.  DalyeU,  whose  elaborate  work  on 
the  darker  superstitions  of  Scotland  we  lately  took  up,  conjoined  with 
the  one  before  us,  must  greatly  add  to  a  proper  knowledge  of  past 
history,  and  therefore  we  recommend  them  to  be  studied  together. 


219 

Abt.  VII.— -^  The  Bridgewater  Treatises^  on  the  Powei\  Wisdom^  and  Goodness 
of  God,  as  manifested  in  the  Creation.  By  Pxter  Mabk  Rogst,  M.D. 
London.     Pickering.     1834. 

Many  are  the  occasions  on  which  a  right-minded  man  has  to  stand 
up  in  the  support  and  defence  of  divine  truth;  and  in  so  far  as  our 
journal  is  concerned,  it  will  be  found  we  have  never  been  backward 
in  vindicating  its  strictest  principles.  Nor  are  the  weapons  few  or 
weak  that  are  ever  ready  and  even  enlarging  for  the  use  of  any  one 
that  is  willing  to  be  an  advocate  in  the  great  and  good  cause. 
Every  discovery  that  is  made  in  nature  (and  in  modem  times 
science  is  daily  extending  its  reign,  by  splendid,  marvellous  instances 
of  new  light,)  strengthens  the  sacred  doctrines  which  the  best  and 
most  iUustrious  men  have  handed  down  to  us  respecting  the  being 
and  perfections  of  Deity.  And  posterity  will  have  no  cause  to  com- 
plain of  the  present  generation  being  slack  or  impotent  in  coming 
forward  to  enforce  the  claims  of  truth,  thus  evidenced.  The  authors 
of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises,  are  particularly  eminent  in  the  field, 
and  are  no  less  distinguished  for  their  zeal  than  their  enligthened 
philosophy.  Nor  hereafter  need  a  stripling  in  learning  or  know- 
ledge be  at  a  loss,  when  encountered  by  any  champion  of  scepticism, 
to  find  arguments  to  silence  the  most  subtle  disputant,  when  the 
question  at  issue  belongs  to  Natural  I'heology.  And  this  is  no  mean 
advantage ;  for  although  Revelation  alone  points  out  the  way  un- 
erringly to  everlasting  life,  yet  a  beUef  in  the  truths  taught  by  the 
light  of  nature  is  the  ground  work  and  starting  point  of  all 
rdigion. 

Dr.  Roget's  Treatise  now  before  us,  on  animal  and  vegetable 
Physiology,  will  be  found  one  of  the  fiillest,  as  well  as  one  of  the 
latest,  works  on  the  evidences  of  the  power,  the  wisdom  and  good- 
ness of  God,  as  manifested  in  the  living  creation.  It  appears  to  us 
to  contain  not  only  a  careful  collection  of  an  immense  number  of 
facts,  scientifically  arranged,  but  narrated  and  explained  in  a  sin- 
gularly plain  and  attractive  form,  level  to  the  apprehension  of  an 
ordinary  reader,  which,  while  it  is  fitted  to  be  a  valuable  intro- 
duction to  the  study  of  natural  history,  presents  to  the  devotional 
mind  a  rich  fountain  of  religious  instruction.  We  shall  endeavour 
to  gratify  our  readers  with  an  outline  of  the  author's  leading  doc- 
trines, and  to  select  some  of  the  most  important  or  striking  facts 
collected  by  him.  But  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  that  verbal  de- 
scription can  never  convey  distinct  ideas  of  many  things  contained 
in  this  treatise  unless  aided  by  figures,  which  are  there  inserted 
very  numerously.  The  work  itself  must  therefore  be  resorted  to  by 
all  who  desire  to  reap  great  benefit  from  it. 

Physiology  is  a  science  of  almost  boundless  extent.  As  the 
term  miports,  it  regards  a  knowledge  of  the  phenomena  of  nature, 
as  they  are  exhibited  in  organized  forms.  Comprehending  there- 
fore all  the  animal  and  vegetable  beings  on  earth.  This  knowledge 
is  attainable  by  man,  through  which  no  doubt  he  is  appointed  to 


220  Roget*8  Bridgewater  Treatise. 

gather  many  notions  of  the  Supreme  Being,  and  to  devote  his  sen- 
timents on  the  same  great  theme.  For,  from  the  marks  of  design 
and  skilftd  contrivance  which  we  perceive  in  the  works  of  creation, 
it  is  a  necessary  conclusion  according  to  the  construction  of  oar 
minds,  that  there  was  a  wise  contriver  engaged  in  their  formation. 
In  things  which  are  subject  to  our  vision  and  judgment,  we  find 
mechanism  and  ends  served  by  certain  means,  so  beautifully  simple 
and  efficacious,  that  when,  compared  with  human  ingenuity  as  ap- 
plied to  the  invention  of  machinery,  inevitably  leads  us  to  believe 
that  the  artificer  was  possessed  of  the  most  admirable  powers.  'The 
maker  of  an  hydraulic  eneine  places  valves  in  particular  parts  of 
its  pipes  and  cisterns,  with  a  view  to  prevent  the  retrograde  motion 
of  the  fluids  which  are  to  pass  through  them.  Can  the  valves  of 
the  veins,  or  of  the  lymphatics,  or  of  the  heart,  have  a  different 
object;  and  are  they  not  the  result  of  deliberate  and  express  con- 
trivance in  the.great  Mechanist  of  the  living  frame  ?  The  know- 
ledge of  the  laws  of  electricity  in  its  different  forms  is  one  of  the 
latest  results  which  science  has  revealed  to  man.  Ck)uld  these 
laws  and  their  various  combinations  have  been  unknown  to  the 
Power  who  created  the  torpedo,  and  who  armed  it  with  an  jenergetic 
galvanic  battery,  constructed  upon  the  most  refined  scientific  prin- 
ciples, for  the  manifest  purpose  of  enabling  the  animal  to  strike 
terror  into  its  enemies,  and  paralyse  their  efforts  to  assail  it?* 
Questions  of  a  like  tendency  might  be  put  respecting  every  de- 
partment of  nature,  to  which  the  observations  of  man  have  yet 
reached.  This  sort  of  argument  is  cumulative  ;  the  evidence  ob- 
tained from  one  source  being  uniformly  and  consistently  strength- 
ened by  that  derived  from  another : — 

"  The  more  we  extend  our  kuowledge  of  the  operatious  of  creative  power, 
as  manifested  in  the  structure  and  economy  of  organized  beings,  the  better 
we  become  qualified  to  appreciate  the  intentions  uith  which  the  several 
arrangements  and  constructions  have  been  devised,  the  art  with  which 
they  have  been  accomplished,  and  the  grand  comprehensive  plan  of  which 
they  form  a  part.  By  knowing  the  general  tendencies  of  analogous  forma- 
tions, we  can  sometimes  recognise  designs  that  are  but  faintly  indicated, 
and  trace  the  links  which  connect  them  with  more  general  laws.  By  ren- 
dering ourselves  familiar  with  the  hand-writing  where  the  characters  are 
clearly  legible,  we  gradually  learn  to  decypher  the  more  obscure  passages, 
and  are  enabled  to  follow  the  continuity  of  the  narrative  through  chapters 
Vi  hich  would  otherwise  appear  mutilated  and  defaced.  Hence  the  utility 
of  comprehending  in  our  studies  the  whole  range  of  the  organized  crea- 
tion, with  a  view  to  the  discovery  cf  final  causes,  and  obtaining  adequate 
ideas  of  the  power,  the  wisdom,  and  the  goodness  of  God." — ^vol.  i.  pp.  33, 34. 

These  are  the  words,  which  in  a  fine  spirit  close  the  first  in- 
troductory chapter  of  this  treatise.  The  author  has  been  consider- 
ing the  subject  of  final  causes,  and  next  proceeds  to  a  general  view 
of  thejunctions  of  life,  according  to  the  following  statement: — 

"  The  intentions  of  the  Deity  in  the  creation  of  the  animal  kingdom,  as 
far  as  we  are  competent  to  discern  or  comprehend  them,  are  referable  to 


Regei'i  Bridgewaier  Treatise.  221 

the  following  classes  i>f  objects,  llie  first  relates  to  the  indiTidual  wel- 
fare of  the  animal,  embracing  the  whole  sphere  of  its  sensitive  existence, 
and  the  means  of  maintaining  the  vitality  upon  which  that  existence  is 
dependent.  The  second  comprises  the  provisions  which  have  been  mad^ 
for  repairing  the  chasms  resulting,  in  the  present  circumstances  of  the 
globe,  from  the  continual  destruction  of  life,  by  ensuring  the  multiplication 
of  the  species,  and  the  continuity  of  the  race  to  which  each  animal  belongs. 
The  third  includes  all  those  arrangements  which  have  been  resorted  to  in 
order  to  accommodate  the  system  to  the  consequences  that  follow  from^an 
indefinite  increase  in  the  numbers  of  each  species.  The  fourth  class  re- 
lates to  that  systematic  economy  in  the  plans  of  organization  by  which  all 
the  former  objects  are  most  effectually  secured.  I  shall  offer  some  obser- 
vations on  each  of  these  general  heads  of  enquiry." — vol.  i.  pp.  34,  35. 

With  reference  to  the  welfare  of  the  individual  animal,  he  goes 
on  to  say,  the  great  end  to  be  answered  in  the  brute  creation  is  the 
attainment  of  sensitive  enjoyment.  This  we  ascribe  to  them  by 
reasoning  analogically  from  our  own  experience,  and  from  the  phe- 
nomena which  they  present.  These  indications  of  feeling  are  the 
Tesvilt  ai  SL  nervous  organization.  By  this  organization,  the  im- 
pression made  on  particular  parts  of  the  body,  and  conveyed  to 
the  brain,  are  the  means  by  which  communications  between  the 
sentient  principle  and  external  objects  are  kept  up.  But  the  iacul-  ., 
ties  of  sensation  and  perception  are  not  the  only  paxticalars  that 
distinguish  animal  existence.  Voluntary  motion  has  also  been 
conjoined,  without  which  the  former,  being  nearly  passive,  would 
often  have  been  baneful  endowments.  The  organs  of  voluntary 
motion  comprise  a  certain  mechanism  requisite  for  the  different 
actions  which  the  animal  is  to  ]?erform,  and  the  provision  of  a 
power  capable  of  setting  the  machine  agoing.  For  these  and  other 
purposes  new  materials  are  perpetually  wanted  of  a  nutritive 
kind:-^ 

"  There  is  another,  and  a  most  important  consequence  flowing  from  the 
peculiar  chemical  condition  of  the  materials  of  which  animal  structures 
are  composed.  The  mode  in  which  their  elements  are  combined  is  so 
complex  as  to  require  a  long  and  elaborate  process  to  accomplish  that 
combination ;  and  neither  the  organs  with  which  animals  are  furnished, 
nor  the  powers  with  which  those  organs  are  endowed,  are  adequate  to  the 
conversion  of  the  materials  furnished  by  the  inorganic  world  into  the  sub- 
stances required  for  the  construction  of  their  bodies,  and  the  maintenance 
of  their  powers.  These  inorganic  elements  must  have  passed  through 
intermediate  stages  of  combinatibn,  and  must  have  been  previously  elabo- 
rated by  other  organized  beings.  This  important  oflke  is  consigned  to 
the  vegetable  kingdom.  Receiving  the  simple  food  furnished  by  nature, 
which  consists  chiefly  of  water,  air,  and  carbonic  acid,  together  with  .^ 
a  sm«ll  portion  of  other  substances,  plants  convert  these  aliments 
into  products,  which  not  only  maintain  their  own  vitality,  but  serve  the 
further  purpose  of  supporting  the  life  of  animals.  Thus  was  the  creation 
and  continuance  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  a  necessary  step  towards  the 
existence  of  the  amimal  world ;  as  well  as  a  link  in  the  great  chain  of  be- 
ino-  formed  and  sustained  by  Almighty  power.    The  Physiology  of  Vege- 


222  Roget^s  BridgeunUer  TVeaHse. 

tables  present  many  topics  of  great  interest  with  relation  to  final  causes^ 
and  will  in  this  Treatise  be  reviewed  with  special  reference  to  this  impor- 
tant object. 

"  Nutrition,  both  in  the  vegetable  and  animal  systems,  comprises  a  very 
extended  series  of  operations.  In  the  former  it  includes  the  absorption  of 
the  crude  materials  from  the  siurounding  elements, — their  transmission  to 
organs  where  they  are  aerated,  that  is,  subjected  to  the  chemical  action  of 
th^air; — their  circulation  in  the  different  parts  of  the  plant, — their  further 
elaboration  in  particular  vessels  and  receptacles — their  deposition  of  solid 
materials — and  their  conversion  into  peculiar  products,  as  well  as  into  the 
substances  which  compose  the  several  organs ; — and  finally,  the  growth 
and  developement  of  the  whole  plant. 

"  Still  more  various  and  complicated  are  the  corresponding  functions  in 
animals.  Their  objects  may  be  arranged  under  the  following  general 
heads ;  each,  again,  admitting  of  further  subdivision.  The  first  end  to  be 
accomplished  is  to  animalize  the  food ;  that  is,  to  convert  it  into  a  matter 
having  the  chemical  properties  of  the  animal  substances  with  which  it  is 
to  be  afterwards  incorporated,  llie  entire  change  thus  effected  is  termed 
Assimilation,  of  which  Digestion  forms  a  principal  part.  The  second  ob^ 
ject  is  to  collect  and  distribute  this  prepared  nutriment,  which  is  the 
blood,  to  the  different  organs,  or  wherever  it  may  be  wanted.  The  neces- 
sary motions  for  these  purposes  are  given  to  the  blood  by  the  organs  of 
CircuUUioti,  consisting  of  the  Hearty  which  impels  it  through  a  system  of 
pi^a  called  Arteries,  and  receives  it  back  again  by  means  of  another  set 
of  tubes  called  Veins.  In  the  third  place  it  is  necessary  that  the  circula- 
ting blood  should  continually  undergo  purification  by  the  chemical  action 
of  oxygen  :  a  purpose  which  is  answered  by  the  function  of  Respiration. 
llie  fourth  stage  of  nutrition  relates  to  the  more  immediate  application  of 
this  purified  material  to  the  wants  of  the  system,  to  the  extension  of  the 
organs,  to  the  reparation  oi  their  losses,  and  to  the  restoration  of  their  ex- 
hausecF  powers." — pp.  S9— 42, 

Perpetual  mutation  seems  therefore  to  be  a  fundamental  law  of 
liviDg  nature.  Mortality  is  a  necessary  consequence  from  such  an 
Cftder  of  things ;  and  life  again  19  propagated  through  death.  The 
process  itself^  by  which  the  germs  of  living  beings  originate,  is  veiled 
in  the  most  impenetrable  mystery.  A  portion  of  the  vital  power  of 
the  parent  is  doubtless  employed  in  the  continuance  and  multipli- 
cation of  each  species>  which  our  author  considers  as  the  secona  of 
the  great  ends  to  be  accomplished  in  the  system  of  living  nature. 
Many  of  the  subsequent  steps  in  the  gradual  developement  of  vege- 
table and  animal  organization  may  be  traced,  all  of  which  impress 
us  with  the  noost  exalted  ideas  of  Providence. 

One  v^  remarkable  tendency  belongs  to  every  part  of  living 
nature,  "Much  is  to  be  observed  ia  the  great  soUcitude  to  perpetuate 
its  individual  race  shown  by  each  species ;  as  is  also  the  ample 
scope  aiferded  by  many  provisions,  that  each  may  be  diflhsed  to 
the  greatest  possible  extent,  consistent  with  the  existence  and 
^dl-being  of  every  class.  The  consequences  that  flow  from  this 
law  of  indefinite  production  are  highly  important  and  curious : — 


Roll's  Bridfewater  TreoHse.  i^ 

"  As  animalft  are  oHiinately  d^endcnt  on  the  vegetable  kingdom  for  the 
nuiterials  of  their  sabaistence^  and  aa  the  quantity  of  these  materials  is»  in 
a  state  of  nature*  necessarily  limited  by  tiie  extent  of  surface  over  which* 
vegetation  is  spread,  a  time  must  arrive  when  the  number  of  animab  thQ» 
oontinuaUy  increasing  is  exactly  such  as  the  amount  of  food  produced  by 
the  earth  will  maintain.  When  this  limit  has  been  attained,  no  further 
increase  can  take  place  in  their  number,  except  by  resorting  to  the  ejq>e- 
dient  which  we  find  actually  adopted,  namely,  that  of  employing  ^e  sub- 
stance of  one  animal  for  the  nourishment  of  others.  Thus  the  identical 
combinations  of  elements,  effeeted  by  the  powers  of  vegetation,  are  trans- 
ferred in  succession  from  one  living  being  to  another,  and  become  subser- 
vient to  the  maintenance  of  a  great  number  of  different  animals  before 
they  finally,  by  the  process  of  decomposition,  revert  to  their  original  inor- 
ganic state." — ^vol.  i.  pp.  44,  45. 

The  ordinance  has  therefore  been  issued  to  a  large  portion  of 
the  animal  kingdom,  that  they  are  to  maintain  themselves  by  prey- 
ing upon  other  animals^  which  leads  us  to  the  consideration  of 
new  conditions  of  organization  and  of  functions,  and  new  relations 
among  the  different  races  of  animals.  Marvellous  variety  is  the 
result  of  these  laws,  which,  however,  is  not  blindly  or  indiscrimi- 
nately arrived  at,  as  is  apparent  from  its  being  controlled  by  the 
law  of  conformity  to  a  definite  type,  so  striking  in  certain  general 
resemblances  among  great  multitudes  of  species,  which  lead  to 
classifications  more  or  less  comprehensive.  There  is,  therefore,  a 
systematic  economy  in  the  plans  of  organization,  which,  whilst  it 
admits  of  the  finest  displays  of  variety,  tends  consistently  to  the 
same  general  purpose,  wherein  goodness  and  wisdom  are  trans- 
cendantly  conspicuous,  and  made  the  more  gloriously  to  appear  by 
ervery  discovery  of  anatomy  and  physiology. 

The  author  in  his  preliminary  chi4>ter  on  the  funciions  of  life^ 
after  a  general  consideration  of  the  intentions  of  the  Deity  in  the 
Creadon  of  living  nature,  which  we  have  cursorily  gleaned  from, 
and  after  glancing  at  certain  theories  which  we  pass  over,  has  this 
coDcktding  paragraph  as  to  the  farther  progress  and  plan  of  this 
treatise : — 

**  lu  treating  of  the  particular  functions  of  the  animal  and  vegetable 
economy  I  shd^  follow  a  different  order  from  that  in  which  I  have  pre- 
sented them  in  the  preceding  sketch.  As  the  Mechanical  fimctions  depend 
upon  the  simnler  properties  of  matter  and  the  well  known  laws  di  me- 
danism,  1  think  it  best  to  commence  with  the  examination  of  these. 
Our  attention  will  next  be  directed  to  the  highly  interesting  aukjects  whick 
relate  to  the  Nutritive  or  Vital  lanctiona  boCk  of  vegetable  and  aninal 
struetures ;  kir  as  they  involve  the  chemical  properties  of  organized  sub- 
stances, and  are,  therefore,  of  a  more  refined  and  intricate  nature  than  the 
preceding,  I  conceive  they  will  be  best  understood  after  the  general  me* 
chanism  of  the  frame  has  been  explained.  These  studies  will  prepare  ua 
for  the  consideration  of  living  animals  as  sentient  and  active  beings^ 
endowed  by  their  bounteous  Creator  with  the  exalted  faculties  of  perception 
and  of  volition,  which  alone  give  value  to  existence,  and  which  raise  them 


404  Roget*8  Bridgewater  Tt^Ue. 

so  fur  above  the  level  of  the  vegetable  world.  I  shall  lastly  give  a  very 
brief  account  of  the  reproductive  functions,  and  of  the  phenomena  of  animal 
developement,  in  which  the  discoveries  of  modem  times,  have  revealed  to 
us  80  considerable  a  portion  of  those  extensive  plans  which  an  all- wise 
Providence  has  beneficently  devised  for  the  general  welfture  of  animated, 
beings." — ^vol  i.  p.  58. 

The  first  part  of  this  work  treats,  according  to  the  author's 
plan,  of  the  mechanical  functions,  in  which  he  begins  with  organic 
mechanism.  And  here  on  the  subject  of  organization  in  general^  we 
have  the  following  amazing  facts  stated: — 

"  Life,  which  consists  of  a  continued  series  of  actions  directed  to  parti- 
Qular  purposes,  cannot  be  carried  on  but  by  the  instrumentality  of  those 
peculiar  and  elaborate  structures  and  combinations  of  material  particles 
which  constitute  organizcUion,  .  All  these  arrangements,  both  as  respects 
the  mechanical  configuration  ^d  the  chemical  constitution  of  the  elements 
of  which  the  organized  body  is  composed,  even  when  apparently  most 
simple,  are,  in  reality,  complex  and  artificial  in  the  highest  possible  degree. 
Let  us  take  as  a  specimen  the  crystalline  lens,  or  hard  central  part,  of  the 
e\  e  of  a  cod  fish,  which  is  a  perfectly  transparent,  and  to  all  appearance 
homogeneous,  spherule.  No  one,  unaccustomed  to  explore  the  wondeis 
of  nature,  would  suspect  that  so  simple  a  body,  which  he  tnight  suppose 
to  be  formed  of  a  uniform  material  cast  in  a  mould,  would  disclose,  when 
examined  under  a  powerful  microscope,  and  with  the  skill  of  a  Brewster, 
the  most  refined  and  exquisite  conformation.  Yet,  as  I  shall  have  occa- 
sion to  specify  more  in  detail  in  its  proper  place,  this  little  spherical  body, 
scarcely  larger  than  a  pea,  is  composed  of  upwards  of  five  millions  of  fibres, 
which  lock  into  one  another  by  means  of  more  than  sixty-two  thousand 
ftve  hundred  millions  of  teeth.  If  such  be  the  complication  of  a  portion 
only  of  the  eye  of  that  animal,  how  intricate  must  be  the  structure  of  the 
other  parts  of  the  same  organ,  having  equally  important  ofiices  !  What 
exquisite  elaboration  must  those  textures  have  received*  whose  functions 
are  stiU  more  refined !  What  marvellous  workmanship  must  have  been 
exercised  in  the  organization  of  the  nerves  and  of  the  brain,  whose  subtle 
instruments  of  the  higher  animal  faculties,  and  of  which  even  the  modes 
of  action  are  to  us  not  merely  inscrutable,  but  surpassing  all  our  powers 
of  conception." — vol.  i.  pp.  59,  60. 

.  What  fabric  framed  by  man  ever  approached  in  refinement  this 
specimen  ?  The  author  goes  on  to  state,  that  all  organic  and  living 
structures,  must  be  composed  of  solid  as  well  as  fluid  partfl, 
although  the  proportion  between  these  is  in  different  cases  aknost 
infinitely  varied.  A  dormant  vitality  may,  indeed,  exist  in  a  sys- 
tem of  organs  which  have  been  brought  into  a  perfectly  dry  state, 
as  in  the  case  of  vegetable  seed,  and  many  species  of  animalcules, 
and  even  of  some  frorms,  which  after  an  indefinite  length'  of  time, 
having  been  kept  dry,  resume  their  activity  when  moistened,  as  if 
restored  to  life.  Such  as  the  tDheel  animalcule.  This  atom  of  dust, 
as  it  only  amounts  to  in  size,  may  remain  for  years  as  such  in  a 
dry  state,  and  yet  may  be  revived  in  a  few  minutes  by  being  again 
supplied  with  water.  The  same  thing  holds  true  of  an  animalcule, 
resembling  an  eel  in  its  shape,  when  viewed  through  a  miseroscope. 


RugeVs  Bridgemater  Treatise,  2*25 

which  infects  difleased  wheat :  when  dried^  it  appears  in  the  form  of 
a  fine  powder^  but  when  moistened  it  resumes  its  living^  state.  But 
how  can  one  hear  of  these  things  without  being  lost  in  a  wonder^ 
only  to  be  equalled  by  the  knowledge  which  the  telescope  has 
opened  up!— ^for  if  the  heavenly  bodies  be  to  our  apprehension 
infinitely  numerocls  and  great,  the  animals  that  teem  in  every  mi- 
nute fragment  of  the  globe  are  infinitely  small,  and  no  less  count- 
less in  number. 

What  seems  to  be  the  simplest  form  of  organization  is  to  be 
found  in  vegetables ;  they  are  limited  in  their  economy  to  the 
fiinotions  of  nutrition  and  reproduction,  and  are  very  different  from 
sentient,  active;  and  locomotive  animals.  We  cannot  find  room 
for  any  part  of  the  curious  facts  which  the  author  has  well  arranged 
respecting  the  wonderfully  minute  and  skilfiil  structure  of  vegetable 
substances.  But  without  this  physiological  knowledge,  every  one 
tnnst  be  astonished  when  he  contemplates  the  mann^  in  which  a 
large  tree  is  chained  to  the  earthy  or,  when  he  considers  the  stems 
of  the  grasses,  which  are  hollow  tubes,  and  demonstrably  the  most 
effective  construction  of  a  column  for  obtaining  the  greatest  possi- 
ble degree  of  strength.  So  that  Galileo,  when  interrogated  by  the 
inquisition  as  to  his  belief  in  a  Supreme  Being,  replied,  pointing  to 
a  straw  on  the  floor  of  his  dungeon,  that,  from  the  structure  of  that 
object  alone^  he  would  infer  with  certainty  the  existence  of  an  in- 
telligent Creator : — : 

'  "  The  graceful  continuous  curve  with  which  the  stem  of  a  tree  rises 
from  the  ground,  is  the  form  which  is  best  calculated  to  give  stability  to 
fh<^  trunk.  Evidence  of  express  mechanical  design  is  likewise  afforded  by 
tiie  manner  in  which  the  truuk  is  subdivided  into  its  branches,  spreading 
out  in  all  directions,  manifestly  with  a  view  to  procure  for  the  leaves  the 
greatest  extent  of  surface,  and  thus  enable  them  to  receive  the  fullest 
action  of  both  light  and  air.  The  branches,  also,  are  so  constructed  as  to 
yield  to  the  irregular  impulses  of  the  wind,  and' again,  by  their  elasticity, 
to  return  to  their  natural  positions,  and  by  these  alternate  inflexions  on 
opposite  aides,  to  promote  the  motion  of  the  sap  in  the  vessels  and  cellular 
texture  of  the  liber  and  alburnum.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  elegance  of 
those  forms  which  are  presented  in  every  part  of  the  vegetable  kingdom, 
whether  they  be  considered  with  reference  to  their  direct  utility  for  the 
support  of  individual  life,  and  the  continua^nce  of  the  species,  or  whether 
they  be  viewed'  as  component  parts  of  that  beauty  which  is  spread  over 
the  scenery  of  nature,  and  is  so  delightfully  refreshing  to  the  eye  of  every 
beholder  dive  to  its  fascinating  charms*  How. enchanting  are  all  the 
varieties  of  flowers,  that  decorate-  in  gay  profusion  every  part  of  the  gar- 
den of  creation ;  and  into  which  the  faither  we  carry  our  philosophic 
scrutiny,  the  more  forcibly  will  pur  hearts  be  impressed  with  the  truth  of 
the  divine  appeal,  that  '  Even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed 
like  one  of  these.'  " — vol.  i.  pp.  81,  82. 

But  the  organization  of  animcds  rises  much  above  that  of  vege^ 
tables  in  point  of  complexity,  and  yet  its  simplicity  when  taken  in 
connexion  with  what  it  can  accomplish,  is  not  the  least  testimony 

VOL.  III.    (1834.)    NO.  If.  R 


226  Rogei's  BrUgewaier  Treatise. 

to  the  master-skill  of  the  Artificer.  Bat  to  pMtt  over  the  mholm 
of  the  disquisition  afforded  by  the  author  on  this  subject^  let  ua  ibf 
a  moment  advert  to  the  fact,  that^  anUke  every  piece  of  machinery 
made  by  man^  a  living  body  contains  vithin  itself  a  principle  ^ 
motion,  quite  distinct,  from  the  force  which  keeps  a  watch  in  ae- 
tion;  for  this  may  be  traced  to  the  hand  which  coiled  the  spring ; 
or  in  the  steam-engine  to  the  fire,  which  has  imparted  elasticity' 
to  the  vapour.  We  can  only  give  part  of  the  author*s  summing 
up  of  a  section  of  his  work,  which,  were  it  before  our  readers,  as  it 
at  this  moment  is  c^n  to  our  eyes,  would  appear  to  them  by  no 
means  the  most  valuable  passage;  it  is,  however,  one  that  can  be 
most  easily  understood,  in  the  shape  of  an  extract : 

'*  The  infinite  mechanicaL  skill,  with  which  the  moving  power  has  been 
applied  to  the  purposes  to  be  accomplished,  is  displayed  not  only  in  the 
larger  organs,  where  great  force  is  to  be  exerted,  but  also,  in  a  still  more 
ooospicuous  manner,  in  the  execution  of  the  amaller  motions,  requiring 
the  most  accurate  regulation,  tai^  the  nicest  adjustments.  We  cannot  but 
be  struck  with  tibe  acoordanoe  which  saay  often,  in  these  instances,  be 
traced  with  hnsian  contrivances^  where  tjbe  greater  motions  are  rapidly 
executed  by  one  set  of  agents,  actiag  with  considerable  power  and  ve- 
locity, while  the  minuter  approximations  to  the  exact  positions  are  effected 
by  a  distinct  part  of  the  apparatus,  capable  of  more  delicate  action,  though 
with  a  smaller  force.  Thus,  while  the  astronomer  brings  his  telescope 
round  by  powerful  machinery,  so  as  to  direct  it  to  that  part  of  the  hoi- 
vens,  where  the  object  he  wishes  to  view  is  situated,  a  more  nice  mocka- 
nism  is  employed  to  direct  the  instrument  accurately  to  the  exact  point : 
and^  again,  another  is  provided  for  making  the  proper  focal  adjuatoienta. 
Many  paraHel  cases  occur  in  the  mechanism  of  the  aDimal  frame ;  eite  aet 
of  powerful  muscles  being  employed  for  the  larger  movements*  aad  an- 
other set  provided  for  the  accurate  regukttion  of  the  more  delicate  inflex* 
ions  and  nicer  positions.  This  we  shall  find  exemplified  in  the  movoneals 
of  the  fingers,  and  of  many  of  the  <Mrgans  of  the  finer  senses.  "-^-voL  i.  pp. 
139—140. 

The  author  next  proceeds  to  discuss  in  distinct  chapteva,  the 
mechanical  functions  of  several  different  grades  of  animals,  begin- 
ning with  Zoophytes,  that  is,  animated  plants,  or  what  has  been 
more  properly  designated  Phytozoa,  that  is,  plant*like  animals. 
These  form,  the  lowest  stations  in  the  scale  of  organizationj  b^jinning 
with  the  various  species  of  sponge,  which  are  met  witih  in  multi* 
tildes  an  every  locky  coast  of  the  oceai^  from  the  shores  of  Gxeen- 
kMid  to  those  of  Australia.  The  series  which  he  nex^t  arrives  at  is 
the  MoUusea,  which  embraces  the  oyster>  the  muscle,  the  oodde, 
animals  very  imperfectly  furnished  with  organs  of  k«oraotioii,'at 
l^ast  after  having  arrived  at  a  c«i;ain  pwied  of  their  growth;  fior 
immediately  after  they  are  hatched,  they  are  free  to  move  in  tlie 
water,  in  search  of  a  habitation.  In  this  chapter,  the  ybrota^ton  cf 
shells  affords  much  interesting  discussion.  AriHulated  ommats 
«  general,  the  lowest  division  of  which  have  a  vermi-fcorm  shape^ 


Rogtfg  Bridjfewater  TreatUd  227 

8Qch  as  tbe  eaarth^wotm,  follour  the  Mollusca.    Spiders  are  anoiheif 
of  the  divisions  in  this  section. 

"  In  oonmon  -wich  all  Mrticiiktod  animals,  dpiders,  in  the  progress  of 
their  growth,  cast  their  outer  skm  sererai  times,  and  at  regolaf  periodi. 
In  the  eartier  stages  of  their  existence,  althoun^h  they  have  the  geneial' 
Ibtm  of  the  ntaenie  insei^«  yet  they  ha^e  a  soudler  nnmber  of  lege  j  the 
kst  fMdr  not  ntakhiff  their  appsaianpe  till  after  the  spider  baa  attained  a 
certain  site.  We  nnjr  here  ttace  ^e  consmeqoesient  of  that  system  of 
natamorphosis,  wbieh«  as  we  lAiall  itfterwards  find,  is  carried  to  so  great  a 
length  in  winged  insects. 

''  Seders  are  endowed  widi  evtepsive  powen  of  progressive  motion, 
and  display  great  activity  and  energy  in  aU  their  movements.  The  long 
and  daatic  lunhs  on  which  the  body  is  suspended^  being  firmly  braced  by 
Asir  articalationsf  liable  tiie  muscles  to  act  with  great  mechanical  advan^ 
ttie  in  accelerating  the  progresrion  of  the  body.  Hence  these  animals^ 
aye  enabled  to  nm  with  great  swtftness,  and  to  spring  ftom  considerable' 
dhtaacason  their  prey ;  powers  whidi  were  necessary  to  those  tribes  that 
five  aMegetiier  by  the  eluise.  The  greater  number  of  species,  however, 
as  is  yfm  known,  are  provided  with  a  c«rk>OB  apparatus  for  spinning 
threads,  oad  for  constructing  webs  to  entente  flies  amd  other  saoall  insects. 
Bvery  species  Hi  spider  weaves  its  web  in  a  manner  pecvhar  to  itself :  and, 
besides  the  prine^  web,  they  often  constmct  in  the  neighbourhood  a 
flssoller  one,  in  the  form  of  a  ceU,  in  whidi  they  eonoeal  themselves,  and 
fie  in  orabash  for  their  prey.  Between  this  cell  aad  Ite  principal  weir 
they  extend  a  thread  of  communication,  and  by  the  vibrations  faito  which: 
it  is  Arowi!^,  on  the  contact  of  any  solid  body,  the  q[»derk  immediately 
Bcqnainted  with  the  events  and  puMies  ^cUy  1»  the  spot,  by  the  sesist-' 
asce  ef  Ac  same  thread. 

"  Some  species  have  the  power  ef  conveying  tfMmsslves  to  considerable 
distances  dnrough  the  air  by  means  of  thteads  which  tbey  dart  ont,  and 
wliieli  are- borne  onwards  by  the  iifind,  while  the  ^der  isdhiging  to  the' 
end  of  the  thread  which  n  next  to  it.  In  Ihis  manner  these  ifiders  are 
often  carried  up  to  a  great  height  in  the  air :  add  it  has  been  supposed 
that  during  their  flight  they  often  seiae  upon  gnats  and  other  flies ;  be<-' 
canoe  the  mutilated  remains  of  these  insects  are  often  seen  adhering  to  the 
^^r^'^y :  this  point,  however,  is  open  to  much  doubt." — ^vol.  i.  pp.  283 — 5. 

Crwsiaeea  are  also  arranged  under  the  bead  of  articulated  ani- 
mala,  whose  calcareous  coverings  are  analogous  to  shell  both  in 
stmciaze  and  eompositian.  But  this  solid  structure  does  not  admit 
of  inesease  by  the  extenaioii  of  its  own  parts. 

**  The  tendency  ia  the  body  and  in  the  limbs  to  expand  during  growth 
in  lesfaiiiiid  by  tbe  liauited  dimensions  of  the  shell,  which  resists  tiie  ef- 
forts to  enlarge  its  diameter.  But  this  force  of  expansion  goee  on  in- 
creasiog»  till  at  length  it  is  productive  of  much  uneasiness  to  the  ani- 
mal, which  is»  in  consequence^  prompted  to  make  a  violent  effort  to  re- 
lieve itself :  by  this  means  it  generally  succeeds  in  bursting  the  shell ; 
and  then,  by  dint  of  repeated  struggles,  extricates  its  body'  and  its  limbs. 
The  lobster  first  withdraws  its  claws,  and  then  its  feet,  as  if  it  were  pull- 
ing' them  out  of  a  pair  of  boots :  the  head  next  throws  oiF  its  case,  toge- 
Aer  with  its  antennee ;  and  the  two  eyes  are  disengaged  from  tbeir  homy 
pedicles.     In  this  operaticvi,  not  only  the  complex  spparatm  of  the  jaws, 

r2 


228  Roget^s  Bridgewater  Treatise. 

but  even  the  homy  cuticle  and  teeth  of  the  stomach,  are  all  cast  oflP  along 
with  the  shell :  and,  last  of  all,  the  tail  is  extricated.  But  the  whole  pro- 
cess is  not  accomplished  without  long  continued  efforts.  Sometimes  the 
legs  are  lacerated  or  torn  off,  in  the  attempt  to  withdraw  them  from  the 
shell ;  and  in  the  younger  Crustacea  the  operation  is  not  unfrequently  fatal. 
£ven  when  successfully  accomplished  it  leaves  the  animal  in  a  most  lan- 
guid state  :  the  limbs,  being  soft  and  pliant,  are  scarcely  able  to  drag  the 
body  along.  They  are  not,  however,  left  altogether  without  defence. 
For  some  time  before  the  old  shell  was  cast  off,  preparations  had  been 
making  for  forming  a  new  one.  The  membrane  which  lined  the  shell 
bad  been  acquiring  greater  density ,^and  had  already  collected  a  quantity 
of  liquid  materials  proper  for  the  consolidation  of  the  new  shell.  These 
materials  are  mixed  with  a  large  proportion  of  colouring  matter,  of  a 
bright  scarlet  hue,  giving  it  the  appearance  of  red  blood,  though  it  differs 
totally  from  blood  in  all.  its  other  properties.  As  sOon  as  the  shell  is  cast 
off,  this  membrane,  by  the  pressure  from  within,  is  suddenly  expanded, 
and,  by  the  rapid  growtli  of  the  soft  parts,  soon  acquires  a  much  larger  size 
than  the  former  shell.  Then  the  process  of  hardening  the  calcareous  in- 
gredient commences,  and  is  rapidly  completed ;  while  an  abundant  supply 
of  fresh  matter  is  added  to  increase  the  strength  of  the  solid  walls  which 
are  thus  constructing  for  the  support  of  the  animal.  Reaumur  estimates 
that  the  lobster  gains,  during  each  change  of  its  covering,  an  increase  of 
one-fifth  of  its  former  dimensions.  When  the  animal  has  attained  its  full 
size,  no  operation  pi  thijs  kind  is.  required,  ^nd  the  same  shell  is  perma- 
nently retained. 

'*  A  provision  appears  to  be  made,  in  the  anterior  of  the  animal,  for  the 
supply  of  the  laige  quantity  of  calcareous  majbter  required  for  the  con- 
struction of  the  shell  at  the  proper  time.  A  magazine  of  carbonate  of 
lime  is  collected,  previous  to  each  change  of  shell,  in  the  form  of  two 
rounded  masses,  one  on  each  side  of  the  stomach.  In  the  Crab  these  balls 
have  received  the  absurd  ni^me  of  crab^s  eyes ;  and  during  the  formation 
of  the  shell  they  disappear." — vol.  i.  pp.  292—4. 

Another  most  amazing  provision  is  made  for  animals  of  this  class: 
it  is  well  known  when  deprived  of  a  claw^  that  that  part  is  soon  re- 
placed by  one  which  grows  from  the  stump  of  the  one  lost.  But 
we  have  only  got  to  the  middle  of  the  first  volume,  by  the  foregoing 
notices;  and  every  succeeding  page  is  as  interesting  and  full  of 
wonder  as  those  which  have  preceded  it.  0/ insects,  the  metamor- 
phoses that  many  of  them  undergo,  their  flight,  their  number, 
beauty  and  variety,  we  therefore  must  extract  nothing.  But,  as  the 
author  says,  if  it  be  pleasing  to  trace  the  footsteps  of  nature  in  con- 
structions so  infinitely  varied  as  those  of  the  lower  animals',  and  to 
follow  the  gradations  of  ascent  from  the  Zoophyte  to  the  winged 
insect,  still  more  interesting  must  be  the  study  of  those  more  elabo- 
rate efforts  of  creative  power  which  are  displayed  on  a  wider  field  in 
the  higher  orders  of  the  animal  kingdom.  The  result  of  these  con- 
structions is  seen  in  vast  series  of  Vertebrated  Animals,  which 
comprehends  all  the  larger  species  on  the  globe,  including  man  him- 
self, at  the  summit  of  the  scale.  In  this  extended  series  thei^  is  at 
first  sight  a  most  remarkable  distinction  when  compared  with  those 


Roget*8  Bridgewater. Treatise.  229 

that  have  gone  before.  For  whilst  in  this  the  solid  frame  work  is 
in  general  internal,  surrounded  by  the  softer  organs,  in  thai  the 
softer  parts  are  internal,  and  enclosed  in  a  crust.  The  uses  which 
sach  an  airangement  serves  are  many  and  mighty,  as  the  mind  at 
once  perceives;  but  a  perusal  df  the  treatise  before  us  will  astonish 
the  reader  with  an  immense  number  more,  which  we  cannot  eVen 
glance  at  in  this  notice.  The  formation  and  developement  of  bone, 
the  construction  of  the  vertebral  column,  and  many  other  processes 
connected  with  ossification  as  here  detailed,  overwhelm  the  contem- 
plative mind  with  an  admiring  wonder,  that  can  only  find  any  thing 
Uke  adequate  expression  in  an  act  of  adoration. 

"  The  purposes  to  be  answered  by  the  skeleton,  in  vertebrated  animals, 
resolve  themselves  into  the  three  following ;  first,  the  affording  mechanical 
support  to  the  body  generally,  and  also  to  different  portions  of  the  body ; 
secondly,  the  providing  a  sohd  baeis  for  the  attachments  of  the  muscles 
which  are  to  effect  their  movements ;  and  thirdly,  the  giving  protection  to. 
the  vital  organs,  and  more  particularly  to  the  central  parts  of  the  nervous 
system.  Of  these  the  last  is  the  circumstance  that  has  the  greatest  influ- 
ence in  determining  the  principles  on  which  the  osseous  frame  ^work  has 
been  constructed.  In  the  nervous  system  of  all  the  animals  coming  under 
the  denomination  of  vertebrata,  the  spinal  marrow,  together  with  the 
brain,  (which  may,  indeed,  be  considered  as  the  anterior  extremity  of  ^e 
spinal  mairow,  only  much  enlarged  by  an  additional  mass  of  nervous 
substance,)  are  the  most  important  parts  of  that  system,  and  the  organs 
which  stand  most  in  need  of  protection  from  every  kind  of  injury.  These 
two  portions  of  the  nervous  system,  when  viewed  as  composing  a  single 
organ,  have  been  denominated  the  spino-cerebrcU  axis^  in  contradistinc- 
tion to  the  analogous  parts  of  the  nervous  system  of  articulated  animals : 
for  amidst  great  differences  of  structure  and  of  functions,  an  analogy  is 
still  retained  among  the  several  forms  of  the  nervous  system,  character- 
ising these  two  great  divisions  of  the  animal  kingdom.  In  the  embryo 
state  of  the  vertebrata  the  central  parts  of  that  system  consist  of  two 
separate  filaments,  running  parallel  to  each  other  the  whole  length  of  the 
body :  but  in  process  of  time  these  two  filcuoaents  unite,  and  constitute  a' 
single  spinal  cord :  and  the  primary  type  of  the  skeleton  is  determined  by 
the  peculiar  fc»m  of  this,  the  central  organ  of  the  nervous  system. 

"  In  laying  the  foundations  of  the  skeleton,  then,  the  first  object  is  to 
provide  for  the  security  of  the  spinal  cord;  and  this  is  accomplished  by 
enclosing  it  within  a  series  of  cartilaginous  rings,  which  are  destined  to 
shield  it  during  its  growth,  and,  by  their  subsequent  ossification,  to  protect 
it  most  effectually  from  all  injurious  pressure.  It  is  this  part  of  the  ske- 
leton, accordingly,  of  which  the  rudiments  appear  the  earliest  in  the  embryo 
animal.  These  rings  form  a  column,  extending  in  a  longitudinal  direction 
along  the  trunk ;  retracing  to  us  the  series  of  homy  rings,  in  which  the 
bodies  of  worms,  of  insects,  and  indeed  of  all  the  Articulata^  are  encased. 
When  ossified,  these  several  rings  are  termed  veriebrce ;  and  the  entire 
column  which  they  compose  is  the  Spine, 

*'  Nor  is  the  spine  of  less  importance  when  viewed  in  its  mechanical 
relaticms  to  the  rest  of  the  skeleton.  It  is  the  great  central  beam  of  the 
fiabric,  establishing  points  of  union  between  all  its  parts,  and  combining- 


280  BogeiU  BrUfewMier  Tveati^fe^ 

them  into  one  continaous  frame<>work :  it  is  thegeqend  axis  of  all  thdf 
motions,  or  the  common  fulcrum  on  wfaieh  the  pnncipal  bones  of  the  ex-* 
tremities  are  made  to  turn  i  it  fumiahes  fixed  points  of  attachment  to  all 
the  large  muscles  which  act  upon  these  bones  aa  levers,  and  also  to  thoae 
which  move  the  trunk  itself. 

"  If  this  Qolmnp  bad  been  perfectly  rigid^  the  whole  frame-irork  would 
hc^ye  been  exposed  to  inconvenience^  and  #ven  danger,  amidst  the  ahocka 
it  must  encounter  during  all  the  quick  and  sudden  rnqyements  of  the  body. 
Not  only  must  its  mechanism  be  framed  to  sustain  these  shocks,  but  also 
to  accommodate  itself  to  various  kinds  of  flexionsi  and  twistings  of  the 
trunk.  While  these  objects  are  provided  for,  care  must  at  the  same  time 
be  tfJcen  that  the  spinal  marrow  it  encloses  shall,  amidst  all  these  motions, 
remain  secure  &om  pressure ;  lor  so  delicate  is  its  structure  that  the  least 
degree  of  compression  would  at  once  interrupt  its  functions,  and  lead  to 
the  most  fatal  consequences.  A  safe  passage  is  likewise  to  be  afforded  to 
the  nerves,  which  issue  from  the  spinal  marrow,  at  certain  intervale,  on 
each  side,  throughout  its  whole  length. 

"  No  where  ha&  mechanieal  art  been  more  conspicuously  displayed  thaa 
in  the  construction  oi  a  fiabric  capable  of  fulfilling  these  opposite,  and  wp^ 
parently  incompatible  functions,  llie  principal  difficulty  was  to  combine 
great  strength  with  sufficient  flexibility.  This  we  find  acoompliahed,  first, 
by  the  division  of  the  column  into  a  great  number  of  pieces,  each  of  whidi 
being  locked  in  with  the  two  adjoining  pieces,  and,  tightly  bmeed  by  oon- 
necting  ligaments,  is  allowed  but  a  very  small  degree  ^f  jlexicm  at  the 
point  of  junction.  This  slight  flexion  at  each  single  joint,  however,  by 
becoming  multiplied  along  the  series,  amounts  to  a  eonsidenible  degree  ot 
motion  in  the  whole  eolumn." — ^vol.  i.  pp*  889 — 390. 

Fishes  occupy  the  lowest  rank-  (rf  vertebrated  animals;  of  ter* 
retrial  tribesi  reptiles  and  those  that  are  amphibious  are  the  next 
in  ascent.  Mammalia  is  the  highest  division,  and  presenting  a 
9iigbty  class  of  animals;  comprebendiiuB;  all  those  which  possess  a 
spinal  column,  breathy  air  by  means  of  lungs,  and  are  also  warm- 
blooded and  viviparous;  conditions  which  render  it  necessary  that 
tiivy  should  possess  orgaaa,  called  mammig,  endowed  with  the  pow^ 
of  pre|)aring  milk  fior  the  nourishment  of  their  young.  These  are 
not  exclusively  land  animals;  some  are  amphibious,  and  some 
aquatic;  but  as  they  all  possess  in  common  the  essential  eharaoters 
of  internal  structure  and  of  fiincticms  above  enumamted,  which  also 
belong  to  the  human  species,  they  claim  to  be  ranked  together,  and 
our  deepest  interest  belongs  to  them.  Let  it  be  remarked,  however, 
that  the  law  of  uniformity  in  the  plan  of  construction  of  all  th^ 
animals  belonging  to  the  same  class,  is  strikingly  shown  in  various 

SiTts  of  the  animals  therein  included.  Fox  instance,  although  in 
e  anterior  extremities  of  the  C^acea,  which  ii|plude  the  whole, 
they  present  ei^temally  no  resemblance  (o  the  leg  and  foot  of  a  qqia* 
druped,  yet  behig  fashioned  into  fin-like  members,  and  wh^a  the 
hones  are  stripp^  of  the  thick  integument  which  covers  them,  we 
find  that  they  exhibit  the  same  divisions  as  exist  in  the  most  higlily 
developed  organization.     But  it  is  man  who  is  both  {physically  airf 


RffM'g  BridffewUer  Treaiite.  331 

physiblegically  Ipkoed  lacoiitestably  at  the  sununit  of  the  scale  of 
tenrestvifld  beiikgs.  It  i»  aot^  however^  on  a  pe-eminence  in  any 
single  quality  that  this  superiority  can  be  founaed,  but  in  a  general 
adaptation  to  an  incomparably  greater  variety  of  objects,  and  our 
infinitely  moire  expanded  sphere  of  action,  than  any  other  animal. 
Destined  to  piossess  an  intellectual,  a  social,  and  a  moral  existence, 
man  has  had  every  part  of  his  organization  modified  with  an  express 
relation  to  these  great  objects  of  his  formation:  for  instance,  it  is 
impossible  to  doubt  that  nature  intended  man  to  assume  the  erect 
attitude. 

"  The  space  cpmpreliended  by  the  two  feet  is  extremely  narrow,  when 
compared  with  the  extended  base  on  which  the  quadruped  is  supported : 
kenee  the  stability  of  the  body  must  be  considerably  less.     The  statue  of 
an  elephant  placed  upon  a  level  surface,  would  stand  without  danger  of 
oversetting ;  but  the  statue  of  a  man  resting  on  the  feet,  in  the  usual  at- 
titude of  standing,  would  be  thrown  down  by  a  very  small  impulse.  •  It  is 
errident,  indeed,  that  in  the  living  body,  if  the  centre  of  gmvity  were 
at  any  moment  to  pass  beyond  the  base,  no  muscular  effort  which  could 
then  be  made  would  avail  to  prevent  the  body  from  falling.    But  the  ac- 
tions of  the  muscles  are  continually  exerted  to  prevent  the  yielding  of  the 
joints  under  the  weight  of  the  body,  which  tends  to  bend  them.    In  qua- 
drupeds less  exertion  is  requisite  for  that  purpose ;  and  standing  is  in  them, 
as  we  have  seen,  a  posture  of  comparative  repose  :  in  man  it  requires  nearly 
as  great  an  expenditure  of  muscular  power  as  the  act  of  walldng.     Sol- 
diers on  parade  experience  more  fatigue  by  remaining  in  the  attitude  of 
standing,  than  they  would  by  marching  during  an  equal  time.     Strictly 
speaking,  indeed,  it  is  impossible  for  even  the  strongest  man  to  remain  on 
his  legSi  in  precisely  the  same  position,  for  any  considerable  length  of 
time.     The  muscle  in  action  soon  become  fatigued,  and  require  to  be  re- 
lieved by  varying  the  points  of  support,  so  as  to  bring  other  muscles  into 
play.     Hence  the  weight  of  the  body  is  transferred  sJternately  from  one 
foot  to  the  other.     The  action  of  standing  consists,  in  fact,  of  a  series  of 
small  and  imperceptible  motions,  by  which  the  centre  of  gravity  is  perpe- 
tually sbifteo  from  one  part  of  the  base  to  another ;  the  tendency  to  fiJl 
to  any  one  aide  being  quickly  counteracted  by  an  insensible  movement  in 
a  contrary  direction.     Long  habit  has  rendered  us  unconscious  of  these 
exertions,  which  we  are,  nevertheless,   continiially  making ;  but  a  child 
leanuog  to  walk  finds  it  difficult  to  accomplish  them  successfully.    It  is 
one  BSfioag  those  arts  which  he  has  to  acquire,  and  which  costs  him  in  the 
apprentioeship  many  painfiil  efforts,  and  many  discouraging  falls.     But 
whenever  tiature  is  the  teacher,  the  scholar  makes  rapid  progress  in  learn- 
ing.; and  no  sooner  have  the  muscles  acquired  the  necessary  strength,  than 
the  child  beeomes  an  adept  in  balancing  its  body  in  various  attitudes,  and, 
in  a  very  short  time  is  unconscious  that  these  actions  require  exertion.'* 
— ^voL  i.  pp.  541, 54€. 

The  seccmd  volume  commaices  with  the  vital  functions ,  and  of 
course  we  take  up  the  offices  of  nutrition  of  the  same  grades  of 
beings  whose  mechanical  functions  have  been  treated  of  in  the 
first  volume.  The  animal  machine,  in  common  with  every  other 
mechanical  contrivance,  is  subject  to  wear  by  constant  use.     There- 


232  Rogei's  Bridgewater  Treatise, 

fore  it  requires  to  be  forwarded  in  its  growth,  and  upheld  in  ite 
vigour.  The  processes  by  which  all  this  is  accomjdished  comprise 
the  reparation  of  the  waste  of  the  substance  of  the  organs,  their 
maintenance,  and  their  application.  The  food  of  plants  and  the 
mode  by  which  they  are  nourished,  furnish  astonishing  proofSs  of 
design  and  wisdom.  But  we  go  on  to  the  food  of  animals;  not  as 
being  more  admirable,  but  as  being  a  subject  more  affecting  in  re- 
ference to  us.  And  here  we  shall  just  take  by  random  a  statement 
or  two  from  the  work  now  before  us.  I'hus  every  class  has  its 
carnivorous  tribes  in  the  animal  kingdom,  which  consume  livings 
prey  of  every  denomination.     For  instance  : — 

"  No  sooner  is  the  signal  given,  on  the  death  of  any  large  animal,  than 
multitudes  of  every  class  hasten  to  the  spot,  eager  to  partake  of  the  repast 
which  nature  has  prepared.  If  the  carcass  be  not  rapidly  devoured  by 
rapacious  birds,  or  carnivorous  quadrupeds,  it  never  fails  to  be  soon  at- 
tacked by  swarms  of  insects,  which  speedily  consume  its  softer  textures, 
leaving  only  the  bones.  These,  again,  are  the  favourite  repast  of  the 
Hyaena,  whose  powerful  jaws  are  peculiarly  formed  for  grinding  them  into 
powder,  and  whose  stomach  can  extract  from  them  an  abunthuit  portion 
of  nutriment.  No  less  speedy  is  the  work  of  demolition  among  the  inha- 
bitants of  the  waters,  where  innumerable  fishes,  Crustacea,  annelida,  and 
moUusca  are  on  the  watch  to  devour  all  dead  animal  matter  which  may 
come  within  their  reach.  The  consumption  of  decayed  vegetables  is  not 
quite  so  speedily  accomplished ;  yet  these  also  afford  an  ample  store  of 
nourishment  to  hosts  of  minuter  beings,  less  conspicuous,  perhaps,  but 
performing  a  no  less  important  part  in  the  economy  of  the  creation.  It 
may  be  observed  that  most  of  the  insects  which  feed  on  decomposing  ma* 
terials,  whether  animal  or  vegetable,  consume  a  much  larger  quantity  than 
they  appear  to  require  for  the  purposes  of  nutrition.  We'  may  hence  infer 
that  in  their  formation  other  ends  were  contemplated,  besides  their  own 
individual  existence.  They  seem  as  if  commissioned  to  act  as  the  scaven- 
gers of  organic  matter,  destined  to  clear  away  all  those  particles,  of  which 
the  continued  accumulation  would  have  tainted  the  atmosphere  or  the 
waters  with  infection,  and  spread  a  wide  extent  of  desolation  and  of  death, 

"  But  we  may  carry  these  views  still  farther ;  and,  following  the  ulterior 
destination  of  the  minuter  and  unheeded  fragments  of  decomposed  oi^gani- 
zations,  which  we  might  conceive  had  been  cast  away,  and  lost  to  all 
useful  purposes,  we  may  trace  them  as  they  are  swept  down  by  the  rains, 
and  deposited  in  pools  and  lakes,  amidst  waters  collected  from  the  soO  on 
every  side.  Here  we  find  them,  under  favourable  circumstances,  again 
partaking  of  animation,  and  invested  with  various  forms  of  infusory  ani- 
malcules, which  sport  in  countless  myriads  their  ephemeral  existence 
within  the  ample  regions  of  every  drop.  Yet  even  these  are  still  qualified 
to  fulfil  other  objects  in  a  more  distant  and  far  wider  sphere ;  for,  borne 
along,  in  the  course  of  time,  by  the  rivers  into  which  they  pass,  they  are 
at  length  conveyed  into  the  sea,  the  great  receptacle  of  all  the  particles 
that  are  detached  from  the  objects  on  land.  Here  also  they  float  not  use-, 
lessly  in  the  vast  abyss;  but  contribute  to  maintain  in  existence  incal- 
culable hosts  of  animal  beings,  which  people  every  portion  of  the  wide 
expanse  of  ocean,  and  which  rise  in  regular  gradation  from  the  microscopic 


lU^ei's  Brklgewaier  TrHUm.  233 


ovomid,  and  ecaroely  vinble  medusa*  tfanmgh  endleae  tribes  (^  moUuaca* 
and  of  fishes*  up  to  the  huge  Leviathan  ctf  ^e  deep. 

"  Even  those  porti<Hi8  of  organic  matter,  which,  in  the  coiuse  of  decom- 
position escape  in  the  form  of  gases,  and  are  widely  diffused  through  the 
atmosphere,  are  not  wholly  lost  for  the  uses  of  living  nature ;  for,  in  course 
of  time,  they  also,  as  we  have  seen,  re-enter  into  the  vegetable  system, 
resuming  the  solid  form,  and  reappearing  as  organic  products,  destined 
again  to  run  through  the  same  never-endiDg  chyle  of  vicissitudes  and 
transmutation 8." — ^vol.  ii.  pp.  60 — 64.  • 

The  call  of  hunger  produces  on  the  herbivorous  and  carnivorous 
animals  the  most  opposite  efiects  : — 

'*  The  calls  of  hunger  produce  on  each  of  these  classes  of  animals  the 
most  opposite  effects.  Herbivorous  animals  are  rendered  weak  and  faint 
by  the  want  of  food,  but  the  tiger  is  roused  to  the  full  energy  of  his  powers 
by  the  cravings  of  appetite ;  his  strength  and  courage  are  never  so  great  as 
when  he  is  nearly  famibhed,  and  he  rushes  to  the  attack,  reckless  of  con-* 
sequences,  and  undismayed  by  the  number  or  force  of  his  opponents.  From 
the  time  he  has  tasted  blood,  no  education  can  soften  the  native  ferocity 
of  his  disposition :  he  is  neither  to  be  reclaimed  by  kindness,  nor  subdued 
by  the  fear  of  punishment.  On  the  other  hand,  the  elephant,  subsisting 
upon  the  vegetable  productions  of  the  forest,  superior  in  size  and  even  in 
strength  to  the  tiger,  and  armed  with  as  powerful  weapons  of  defence, 
which  it  wants  not  the  courage  to  employ  when  necessary,  is  capable  of 
being  tamed  with  the  greatest  ease,  is  readily  brought  to  submit  to  the 
authority  of  man,  and  requites  with  affection  the  benefits  he  receives. 

"  On  first  contemplating  this  extensive  destruction  of  animal  life  by 
modes  the  most  cruel  and  revolting  to  all  our  feelings,  we  naturally  recoil 
with  horror  from  the  sanguinary  scene ;  and  cannot  refrain  from  asking 
how  aU  this  is  consistent  with  the  wisdom  and  benevolence  so  conspicu- 
ously manifested  in  all  other  parts  of  the  creation.  The  best  theologians 
have  been  obliged  to  confess  that  a  difficulty  does  here  exist,  and  that  the 
only  plausible  solution  which  it  admits  of,  is  to  consider  the  pain  and  suf- 
fering thus  created,  as  one  of  the  necessary  consequences  of  those  general 
laws  which  secure,  on  the  whole,  the  greatest  and  most  permanent  good. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  scheme,  by  which  one  animal  is  made 
directly  conducive  to  the  subsistence  of  another,  leads  to  the  extension  of 
the  benefits  of  existence  to  an  infinitely  greater  number  of  beings  than 
could  otherwise  have  enjoyed  them." — vol.  ii.  pp.  66 — 68. 

Magnificent  is  now  the  field  that  opens  up  to  us  in  this  treatise. 
There  is  the  preparation  of  food  treated  of,  liquid  and  solid,  mas- 
tication, deglutition,  and  the  receptacles  ;  there  is  digestion ^  chyli- 
ficaiian^  lacteal  absorption y  circulation,  respiration,  secretion, 
absorption,  and  at  last  nervous  power,  which  leads  to  the  sensorial 
functions.  Each  of  these  terms  admits  of  the  most  curious  instruc- 
tion  and  scientific  explication  ;  but  we  must  confine  ourselves  to  a 
notice  of  the  functions  of  the  senses.  Indeed  the  system  of  me* 
chanical  and  vital  operations,  or  rather  fimctions  which  we  have 
merely  touched,  is  only  a  foundation  for  the  endowment  of  higher 
faculties,  which  constitute  the  great  objects  of  animal  existence.  It 
is  in  the  study  of  these  final  purposes  that  the  scheme  of  nature  in 


284  Rd99^9  Bridgmtttir  Tr§ati9^ 

the  fbrmation  of  the  aninial  irorld  displnys  tt9ctf  ia  «U  its  grandeur. 

The  Divine  Architect  has  employed  all  the  powers  of  matter  whidi 
science  has  yet  revealed  to  man  to  concur  in  the  great  work  that 
was  to  be  performed.  On  the  organized  ftibric  there  has  been  con- 
ferred a  vital  force ;  with  the  powers  of  mechanism  have  been  con- 
joined those  of  chemistry :  and  to  these  have  been  superadded  the 
still  more  subtle  and  potent  agencies  of  caloric  and  d  electricity: 
every  resource  has  been  employed^  every  refinement  practised,  every 
combination  exhausted,  that  could  ensure  the  stability  and  prolong 
the  duration  of  the  system,  amidst  the  multifarious  causes  which 
continually  menace  it  with  destruction. 

But  can  this,  continues  the  author,  which  is  mere  physical  exist- 
ence, be  the  sole  end  of  life  ?  Must  we  not  even  associate  the  power 
of  feeling  with  the  idea  of  animal  existence  ?  There  is  a  peculiar 
substance  called  the  medullary,  which  composes  the  greater  part  of 
the  texture  of  the  brain,  assipal  marrow,  and  nerves,  that  is  to  man 
totally  inexplicable,  connected  with  afiections  of  the  sentient  and  in- 
telligent  principle:  a  principle  which  we  cannot  any  otherwise  believe 
than  as  being  distinct  from  matter;  although  we  know  that  it  is  capa- 
ble of  being  affected  by  matter  operating  through  the  medium  of  uiis 
nervous  substance,  and  that  it  is  capable  of  reacting  upon  matter 
through  the  same  medium.  The  brain  is  the  essential  organ  of 
sensation ;  the  inquiry,  therefore,  arises  respecting  the  scheme  that 
has  been  devised  for  enabling  it  to  receive  impressions  from  suck 
external  objects  as  it  is  intended  that  this  sentient  being  shall  be 
capable  of  perceiving: — 

"As  these  objects  can,  in  the  first  instance,  make  impressions  only  on 
the  organs  situated  at  the  surface  of  the  body,  it  is  evidently  necessary 
that  some  medium  of  communication  should  be  provided  between  the  ex- 
ternal organ  and  the  bn&in.  Such  a  medium  is  found  in  the  nerves,  which 
are  white  cords,  oonsisting  of  bundles  of  thteads  or  filaments  of  medullary 
matter,  enveloped  in  sheaths  of  membrane*  and  extending  continuously 
.  from  the  external  organ  of  the  brain,  where  they  all  terminate.  It  is  also 
indispensably  requisite  that  those  notices  of  the  presence  of  objects 
should  be  transmitted  .instandy  to  the  brain ;  for  the  slightest  delay  would 
be  attended  with  serious  evU,  and  might  even  lead  to  fatal  consequences. . 
The  nervous  power,  of  which,  in  our  review  of  the  vital  functions,  we 
notice  some  of  the  operations,  is  the  agent  employed  by  nature  for  this 
important  office  of  a  rapid  communication  of  impressions.  The  Velocity 
with  which  the  nerves  subservient  to  sensation  transmit  the  impressions 
they  receive  at  one  extremity,  along  their  whole  course,  to  their  termina- 
tion in  the  brain,  exceeds  all  measurement,  and  can  be  compared  only  to 
tbat  of  electricity  passing  along  a  conducting  wire. 

**  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  brain  requires  to  be  furnished  wi^  a 
great  number  of  these  nerves,  which  perform  the  offlce  of  conductors  of. 
the  subtle  influence  in  question ;  and  that  these  nerves  must  extend  from 
all  those  parts  of  the  body  whidi  are  to  be  rendered  sensible,  and  muat 
unite  at  their  other  extremiUes  in  that  central  organ.  It  is  of  specisdjm* 
portance  that  the  surface  of  the  body,  in  particular,  should  commumcate 


lUg^9  BrUfrnM^tr  TrmH^e.  te5 

iJl  IhB  iaiproMiOM  reccfaad  from  the  odntaet  of  external  bodieB;  and  that 
these  impTcarionB  ihcnidd  pvoduce  the  meet  dietinet  perceptione  of  toneb. 
iience  we  find  that  the  ekxa,  and  all  tiioae  parts  of  it  more  particulariy  in-* 
teiKied  to  be  the  organa  of  a  delicate  touch,  are  moQt  abundantly  supplied 
vith  nerves;  each  nerve,  however*  coQununicatii(ig  a  sensation  distin* 
guiehable  from  that  of  every  other,  so  as  to  enable  the  mind  to  discrimi-; 
nate  between  them,  and  refer  them  to  their  respective  origins  in  different 
parts  of  the  surface.  It  is  also  expedient  that  the  internal  organs  of  the 
body  should  have  some  sensibility ;  but  it  is  better  that  this  should  be  very 
limited  in  degree,  since  the  occasions  ate  few  in  which  it  would  be  posi- 
tively injurious :  hence  the  nerves  of  sensation  are  distributed  in  less  abun- 
dance to  these  organs.*' — ^vol.  ii.  pp.  366—8. 

''To  a  person  unused  to  reflection,  the  phenomena  of  sensation  and  per- 
ception may  appear  to  require  no  elaborate  investigation.  That  he  may 
behold  external  objects,  nothing  more  seems  necessary  than  directing  his 
eyes  towards  them.  He  feels  as  if  the  sight  of  those  objects  were  a  ne« 
cessary  consequence  of  the  motion  of  the  eye -balls,  and  he  dreams  not 
that  there  can  be  any  thing  marvellous  in  the  function  of  the  eye,  or  that 
any  other  organ  is  concerned  in  this  simple  act  of  vision.  If  he  wishes  to 
ascertain  the  solidity  of  an  object  within  his  reach,  he  knows  that  he  has 
but  to  stretch  forth  his  hand,  and  to  feel  in  what  degree  it  resists  tile 
pressure  he  gives  to  it.  No  exertion  even  of  this  kind  is  required  for  hear- 
ing the  voices  of  his  companions,  or  being  apprized,  by  the  increasing 
loudn^s  of  the  sound  of  falling  waters,  as  he  advances  in  a  particular  di- 
rection, that  he  is  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  cataract.  Yet  how 
much  is  really  implied  in  all  these  apparent  simple  phenomena !  Science 
has  taught  us  that  these  perceptions  of  external  objects,  fieir  from  being 
direct  or  intuitive,  are  only  the  final  result  of  a  long  series  of  operations, 
produced  by  agents  of  a  most  subtle  nature,  which  act,  by  curious  and  com- 
plicated laws,  upon  a  refined  organiza.tion,  disposed  in  particular  situa- 
tions in  our  bodies,  and  adjusted  with  ndmirable  art  to  receive  their  im- 
pressions, to  modify  and  combine  them  in  a  certain  order,  and  to  convey 
them  in  a  regular  succession,  and  without  confusion,  to  the  immediate 
seat  of  sensation. 

'*  Yet  this  process,  complicated  as  it  may  appear,  constitutes  but  the 
first  stage  of  the  entire  function  of  perception :  for  before  the  mind  can 
arrive  at  a  distinct  knowledge  of  the  presence  and  peculiar  qualities  of  the 
external  object  which  gives  rise  to  the  sensation,  a  long  series  of  mental 
changes  must  intervene,  and  many  intellectual  operations  must  be  per* 
formed*  All  these  take  place  in  such  rapid  succession,  that  even  when 
we  include  the  movement  of  the  limb,  which  is  consequent  upon  the  per- 
ception, and  which  we  naturally  consider  as  part  of  the  same  continuous 
action,  the  whole  appears  to  occupy  but  a  single  instant.  Upon  a  careful 
analysis  of  the  phenomena,  however,  as  I  shall  afterwards  attempt  to  show, 
we  find  no  less  than  twelve  distinguishable  kinds  of  changes,  or  rather 
processes,  some  of  which  imply  many  changes,  must  always  intervene,  in 
regular  succession,  between  the  action  of  the  external  object  on  the  organ 
of  sense,  and  the  voluntary  movement  pf  the  limb  which  it  excites.** — 
pp.  372—3. 

On  tone  of  the  works  of  the  Creator  which  we  are  permitted  to 
behold   have  the  characters  of  intention  been  more  deeply  and 


2dG  Raget^s  Bridgewaier  Treatite. 

l^bly  engraved  than  on  the  organ  of  vision.  Of  all  the  animal 
structui'es^  this  is,  perhaps,  the  one  which  most  easily  admits  of  being 
brought  into  close  comparison  with  the  works  of  human  art;  for 
the  eye  is,  in  truth,  a  refined  optical  instrument,  the  perfection  of 
which  can  never  be  fiiUy  appreciated  until  we  have  instituted  such 
a  comparison.  We  can  only  find  room  for  a  small  part  of  the 
description  of  the  human  eye  : — 

"  An  orbicular  muscle,  the  fibres  of  which  run  in  a  circular  direction, 
immediately  underneath  the  skin,  all  round  the  eye,  is  provided  for  closing 
them.  The  upper  eye-lid  is  raised  hy  a  separate  muscle,  contained  within 
the  orbit,* immediately  above  the  upper  straight  muscle  of  the  eye-ball. 
The  eye-lashes  are  curved  in  opposite  directions,  so  as  not  to  interfere  with 
each  other  when  the  eye-lids  are  closed.  Their  utility  in  guarding  the 
eye  against  the  entrance  of  various  substances,  such  as  hairs,  dust,  or 
perspiration,  and  also  in  shading  the  eye  from  too  strong  impressions  of 
light,  is  sufficiently  apparent.  The  eye-lids,  in  closing*  meet  first  at  the 
outer  comer  of  the  eye ;  and  their  junction  proceeds  along  the  line  of  their 
edges,  towards  the  inner  angles,  till  the  contact  is  complete :  by  this 
means  the  tears  are  carried  onwards  in  that  direction,  and  accumulated  at 
the  inner  comer  of  the  eye ;  an  effect  which  is  promoted  by  the  bevelling 
of  the  margins  of  the  eye-lids,  which,  when  they  meet,  form  a  channel  for 
the  fluid  to  pass  in  that  manner.  When  they  arrive  at  the  inner  comer 
of  the  eye,  the  tears  are  conveyed  away  by  two  slender  ducts,  the  orifices 
of  which,  called  the  pwncta  lacrymalia^  are  seen  at  the  inner  comer  of 
each  eye-lid,  and  are  separated  by  a  round  projecting  body,  connected 
with  a  fold  of  the  conjunctiva,  and  termed  the  lacrymal  caruncle*  The 
two  ducts  soon  unite  to  form  one  passage,  which  opens  into  a  sac,  situated 
at  the  upper  part  of  the  sides  of  the  nose,  and  terminating  below  in  the 
cavity  of  the  nostrUs,  into  which  the  tears  are  ultimately  conducted.  When 
the  secretion  of  the  tears  is  too  abundant  to  be  carried  off  by  this  channel, 
they  overflow  upon  the  cheeks ;  bat  when  the  quantity  is  not  excessive, 
the  tendency  to  flow  over  the  eye-lid  is  checked  by  an  oily  secretion  pro- 
ceeding from  a  row  of  minute  glands,  situated  at  the  edge  of  the  eye- lids, 
and  termed  the  Meibomian  glands, 

"  The  eye-brows  are  a  further  protection  to  the  eyes  ;  the  direction  of 
the  hairs  being  such  as  to  turn  away  from  them  any  drops  of  rain  or  of 
perspiration,  which  may  chance  to  fall  from  above. 

"  Excepting  in  front,  where  the  eyes  are  covered  and  protected  by  the 
eye-lids,  these  important  organs  are  on  all  sides  effectually  guarded  from 
injury  by  being  contained  in  a  hdUow  bony  socket,  termed  the  orbit,  and 
composed  of  seven  portions  of  bone.  These  seven  elements  may  be  recog- 
nised in  the  skulls  of  all  the  mammalia,  and  perhaps  also  in  those  of  all 
other  vertebrated  animals ;  affording  a  remarkable  illustration  of  the  unity 
of  the  plans  of  nature  in  the  construction  of  the  animal  fabric." — vol.  ii. 
pp.  467—469. 

The  chapter  on  the  reproductive  functions,Mvh\cYi  forms  the  last 
part  of  this  work,  we  must  pass  over,  and  also  take  leave  entirely  of 
it.  The  extracts  we  have  given  will  satisfy  every  reader  that  the 
work  is  one  of  great  care,  labour,  and  ability.  Such  progress  of  late 
has  been  made  in  every  branch  of  physiological  science,  that  it  must 


Rogers  Bridgewater  Treatise,  237 

have  been  no  easy  task,  to  embrace,  even  within  these  two  thick 
volumes,  the  principal  facts,  and  still  less  so  to  arrange  them  in  the 
lucid  order  in  which  they  appear.  The  result  of  our  perusal  of  the 
treatise  however,  is  to  our  minds  a  sufficient  testimony  to  the  talent 
of  the  author.  Tt  was  his  design  to  treat  of  animal  and  vegetable 
physiology  in  a  manner  that  would  prove  that  those  departments  of 
nature  were  the  work  of  one  all-powerfid,  wise,  and  benevolent  Being; 
and  he  has  succeeded  in  conveying  to  our  minds  the  most  exalted 
conceptions  of  God  of  which  we  are  susceptible.  The  perusal  of 
the  work  will  be  found  by  every  candid  reader  a  highly  instructive 
and  ennobling  exercise.  Philosophy  is  here  beheld  in  her  proper  co- 
lour and  shape,  as  the  hand-maiden,  of  truth,  and  akin  to  revealed 
religion.  We  quote  the  concluding  paragraphs,  which  are  such  as 
became  a  Christian  writer  to  indite  :■— 

'*  The  great  Author  of  our  being,  who,  while  he  has  been  pleased  to 
confer  on  us  the  gift  of  reason,  has  prescribed  certain  limits  tp  its 
powers,  permits  us  to  acquire,  by  its  exercise,  a  knowledge  of  some  of 
the  wondroiis  works  of  his  creation,  to  interpret  the  characters  of  wisdom 
and  of  goodness  with  which  they  are  impressed,  and  to  join  our  voice  to 
the  general  chorus  which  proclaims  '  His  Might,  Majesty,  and  Dominion.' 
From  the  same  gracious  hand  we  also  derive  that  unquenchable  thirst 
for  knowledge,  which  this  fleeting  life  must  ever  leave  unsatisfied;  those 
endowments  of  the  moral  sense,  with  which  the  present  constitution  of 
the  world  so  ill  accords ;  and  that  innate  desire  of  perfection  which  our 
present  frail  condition  is  so  inadequate  to  fulfil.  But  it  is  not  given  to 
man  to  penetrate  into  the  counsels  or  fathom  the  designs  of  Omnipo- 
tc*nce ;  for,  in  directing  his  views  into  futurity,  the  feeble  Jight  of  his 
reason  is  scattered  and  lost  in  the  vast  abyss.  ~  Although  we  plainly  dis- 
cern intention  in  every  part  of  the  creation,  the  grand  object  of  the 
whole  is  placed  far  above  the  scope  of  our  comprehension. .  It  is  impos- 
sible, however,  to  conceive  that  this  enormous  expenditure  of  power, 
this  vast  accumulation  of  contrivances  and  of  machinery,  and  this  profu- 
sion of  existence  resulting  from  them,  can  thus,  from  age  to  age,  be 
prodigally  lavished,  without  some  ulterior  end«  Is  man,  the  favoured 
creature  of  nature's  bounty,  *  the  paragon  of  animals,'  whose  spirit  holds 
communion  with  celestial  powers,  formed  but  to  perish  with  the  wreck 
of  his .  bodily  frame  ?  Are  generations  after  generations  of  his  race 
doomed  to  follow  in  endless  succession,  rolling  darkly  down  the  stream 
of  time,  and  leaving  no  track  in  its  pathless  ocean  ?  Are  the  operations 
of  Almighty  power  to  end  with  the  present  scene  ?  May  we  not  discern, 
in  the  spiritual  constitution  of  man,  the  traces  of  higher  powers,  to  which 
those  he  now  possesses  are  but  preparatory :  some  embryo  faculties  which 
rabe  us  above  this  earthly  habitation  ?  Have  we  not  in  the  iinagination 
a  power  but  little  in  harmony  with  the  fetters  of  our  bodily  organs ;  and 
bringing  within  our  view  purer  conditions  of  beiiig,  exempt  from  the 
illusions  of  our  senses  and  the  infirmities  of  our  nature,  our  elevation  to 
which  will  eventually  prove  that  all  these  unsated  desires  of  knowledge, 
and  all  these  ardent  aspirations  after  moral  good,  were  not  implanted  in 
us  in  vain? 

*'*'  Happily  there  has  been  vouchsafed  to  u^,  from  a  higher  source,  a 
pure  and  heavenly  light  to  guide  our  faltering  steps,  and  animate  our 


dSS  Qwtd^'B  Mimtmry  ^  Okma. 


^  i|fiKit»  m  ikift  dndc  aai  fcwiry  aiank;  xeveiBag  those  ituAm 
wkicElt  mrportB  us  most  of  all  to  kncnr;  fpsfw^  to  oaonlity  faigber 
sanctions ;  elevating  our  hopes  and  our  affsetsoaa  ta  aoUer  objects  thaa 
Won^  to  earth,  and  inspiring  more  exalted  themeeof  Aaaksipuig  and 
aCpmse." — wol.  ii.  pp.  639—641. 


—  !■■* 


Am%.  yJU.^A  Sketch  of  ChiMse  History,  Ancient  and  Modern.    Bj  Oe 
Bcnr.  Cbjuais  OuTZLAFF.     London:   Smith,  Elder^  and  Co.    1834. 

Ths  satbcff  in  this  and  former  works  has  done  much  to  make  us 
acquaiDlsd  with  that  singular  people,  the  Chinese^  and  with  their 
inmiease  enflf^e.    As  a  nation  they  are  becomiug  more  and  more 

object  of  coiudderation  to  Europeans.  Hitherto  the  remoteness 
with  lespect  to  Britain  that  China  holds  on  the  face  of 
lie  iahospitable  nature  of  its  policy  towards  strangers, 
hsTO  fiMiiiuncwT  m  Berpetuating  the  erroneous  impressions  created 
by  travellers  iminmcuy  informed^  or  prone  to  exaggerate  what- 
ever they  saw.  Bat  &0  antbor's  long  aad  careful  study  of  that 
strange  country's  character,  which  his  extended  residence  in  it  en- 
abled him  to  pursue,  ^md  his  earnest  desire  to  give  a  faithful  ao- 
cottJit  of  all  that  he  haa  had  the  means  of  studying,  unite  to  render 
the  volumes  befiore  us  of  particular  value.  Indeed,  they  wiB  be 
found  to  convey  a  more  correct  and  oomprehensive  view  at  the  in- 
temal  history  of  China  than  has  ever  before  been  pubKshed.  Mr. 
GutzlafPs  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  extraordinary  language  of 
the  people  of  whom  he  treats  at  once  presents  him  with  a  key  to  in- 
formation and  knowledge  which  very  few  possess.  A  free  trade  has 
been  opened  up  for  British  merchants  to  China,  and  we  feel  confi- 
dent that  the  present  work  wiD  do  much  in  clearing  away  many 
misapprehensions  that  previously  have  been  generally  entertainea 
by  the  English  in  respect  of  that  country.  Une.  thing  is  manifest 
even  on  the  slightest  perusal  of  these  volumes,  that  they  are 
severely  accurate,  in  regard  not  merdy  of  the  matters  stated  as 
&cts,  but  in  the  reasonings  thereon  munded.  No  longer  need  it 
be  supposed  that  the  ''  celestial  empire"  possesses  a  milkary  power 
of  colossal  dimensicms  and  strength,  or  that  the  government,  whidi 
may  be  regarded  as  the  beau  ideal  of  despotism,  has  been  torn  by 
f^er  revolutions  and  civil  wars  than  the  free  states  of  t^e  west. 

The  contents  of  the  work  are  arranged  in  a  lucid  order,  which 
enables  the  reader  at  once  to  comprehend  the  author's  plan,  to  ar- 
rive at  any  matter  that  is  therein,  with  very  little  trouble,  and  to 
fed  the  force  of  the  views  takeix.  Thie  firsi  chapter  is  devoted  to 
Q»^gfra{)hical  remarksy  wh^ein  we  are  told  that  the  whole  extent  of 
Chinese  terrttcMry  is  3,010>400  square  miks,  1,296,000  of  which  eon- 
stttate  the  area  of  China  Proper.  The  whole  empire  is  thus  larger 
than  Europe,  and  the  population  is  at  all  events  fiu:  mcnre  numerous. 
The  enormous  amount  of  367  mifiions  is  given  as  the  actual  number 
of  the  inhabitants,  which  the  author  thinks  is  as  near  the  truth  as 
can  be  ascertained.     Those  parts,  indeed,  which  he  has  visited  are 


OtUflqfs  Hi9i9ty  ^  Chim.  239 

mLfxtmAj  poifvioWf  «ad  oa  numbering  the  houses  of  trndil  dictriott, 
he  has  invanably  found  th»t  the  last  imperial  coDfiia  unAer-xsteA 
the  amount  of  people.  Though  the  empiie,  howvfer,  piMfxaa  w^ 
oesaarfly  a  great  variety  of  ohiMtea,  ka  p^oidiiceions  bc^b  in  variety 
and  qaantity  appear  to  be  fiv  iaftriar  to  what  i»  found  in  Europe. 
Fruit-trees,  for  instanee^  afe  comparatively  scarce,  and  very  few 
kinds  of  vegetables  are  activated  by  iht  people.  The  hreedmg  of 
horses  and  cattle  is  likewise  neglected,  almost  every  kind  of  h»i 
labour  beiivg  pcfjbrmed  by  human  hands,  and  the  nativee  conmtmiitg! 
eomparativdy  Utde  animal  food. 

liie  second  jdiapter  treats  of  the  govsnunent  and  Im^Ham 
siqgidar  peo|^. 

"  At  the  haad  of  tke  CHi'ieiai  gepsMant  0tmh  ths  snpeior,  aa  the  son 
of  Heaven^  Heavenf s  piaigiioil  bdkrr,.  iuTeSbcd  with  idUauted  pewer  and 
vfatae#  the  tale  dbmilwhii  of  Heaven's  favoon  on  eartik    His  station  ia 
so  grettly  elanMed  above  that  of  all  common  inoftab,  that  he  demands  the 
adoiation  of  his  subjects^  not  onlike  the  Roman  eaiperors  of  old,    Besidea 
the  afpOatbo  of  Teen-tsze.  *heaveD*8  soa/  he  i^  called  Hwang-te,  'the 
aaMit  emperor/  or  Hwang-9hang,  ^snpremely  august;*  Ts-hwaug-shang^ 
'  w#|preat  supremely  angust/  and  Shing-choo« '  the  holy  lord.'  In  addressing 
it^,  tt  is  i>ot  very  uncommon  to  use  the  phrase  Wan«suy-yay,  '  the  lord 
sf  a  mynad  of  years  */  Qr«  in  speaking  of  him  as  we  say,  '  his  majesty,* 
'the  court,  &c./  the  Chinese  make  ese  of  the  phrase  Chaon-ting,  'the 
palace.'    The  mandarins,  as  well  as  the  other  natives,  not  only  prostrate 
themselves  when  in  the  presence  of  hit  imperial  majesty,  hat  also  hefbre  a 
tablet/  with  the  inacriptiony  W«o«soy^yay.    Dressed  in  a  robe  of  yellow^ 
the  colour  worn,  say  the  Chioesef  by  the  sun,  he  is  rarroanded  by  all  the 
pageantry  of  the  h^hest  dignity  ia  the  world;  whilst  the  extensive  em- 
pure  lies  pnastrate  at  bis  feel.    Bttt«  notwithstanding  bis  exalted  station, 
he  is»  nominally,  the  fGitfaer  of  Ids  people;  thoQgh»  uoder  the  appearance 
of  the  moat  lenient  patriarchal  government,  his  sway  is,  in  fact,  that  of  the 
most  absolute  despot.    In  no  conntry  in  the  world  is  tyranny  so  well 
cloaked  nnder  the  endearing  names  of  paternal  authority.     Punishments 
are  denominated  mere  chastisetaents,  even  when  the  criminal  is  cut  to 
pieces,  or  peridies  croelly  by  a  slow  and  most  ignoouaioaa  death.    The 
emperor  cdf  China,  the  common  father  of  an  immense  £amily,  does  not 
panish,  but  correct ;  he  is  actuated  by  the  most  tender  compassion,  when 
he  socks  the  blood  of  the  subject  and  tramples  upon  the  laws.    like  the 
|M>pe»  ia  Barope  (and  he  is  nothing  hot  a  political  pope,  equally  arrogant 
in  pretensions),  the  emperor  ia  admost  coaudered  infallible.     But  with 
the  view  of  cnrbing,  in  some  degree,  his  tcemeiidous  authority »  the  law 
kaa  ap^uted  censors  over  his  conduct^  whose  admonitions,  however,  he 
may  not  choose  to  receive.     Ordinary  characters*  even  when  seated  on  the 
throne,  will  always  be  under  a  certain  contrt^t :  but  a  tyrant  of  strong 
wind  and  great  capacity  may  oppress  China  with  impunity.*'— vol.  i.  pp. 
34—^36. 

The  emperor,  besides  the  utmost  political  power,  performs  the. 
office  of  high-priest ;  the  forms  of  prayers  which  he  repeats  have 
been  in  use  during  many  ages. 


240  Gutzlaff's  History  of  Chma, 

'  *•*'  If  any  calamities  afflict  the  country,  he  is  wont  to  accuse  himseif  as 
the  cause,  and  to  utter  the  prescribed  lamentations,  in  order  to  appease 
the  gods.  Thus,  he  keeps  on  good  terms  with  heaven,  earth,  hills  and- 
rivers,  and  all  the  nation.  As  much  of  his  actions  as  he  wishes  to  be 
known,  are  recorded  in  a  daily  gazette,  which  is  but  a  dry  detail  of  or- 
dinary and  uninteresting  occurrences.  His  proclamations  are  framed  ac- 
cording to  a  prescribed  form ;  for  he  only  examines,  or,  rather,  causes  to 
be  examined,  the  ancient  records,  and  writes  and  acts  conformably  ;  al- 
though he  is  careful  to  reserve  for  himself  the  ^berty  of  setting  aside 
his  declared  intentions,  whenever  it  suits  his  convenience.  One  remark, 
in  regard  to  all  Chinese  institutions,  which  applies  also  to  the  emperor, 
may  here  be  made  :— *the  theory  is,  in  many  instances,  very  excellent, 
but  the  pracftice  is  generalfy  exceedingly  defective.  A  crafty,  lying,  base 
spirit  pervades  the  court,  and  alt  the  officers  of.  government.  Persons 
have  nowhere,  indeed,  to  complain  of  a  want  of -ftir  words;  bui  the  ac- 
tions, which  form  a  contrast  to  them,  are  abominaJble**  •  A.  well-organized 
system  of  oppression  is  carried  on  from  the  highest  minister  of  state  to 
the  pettiest  mandarin ;  every  one  is  most  anxious  to  exercise  his  rapacity, 
upon  those  below  him ;  and  those,  in  their  turn,  practise  the  same  ty- 
ranny towards  their  inferiors." — vol.  i.  pp.  37 — 38. 

The  whole  of  the  Chinese  government  is  pervaded  by  a  spirit. of 
regularity  unknown  in  any  other  part  of  Asia.  The  author  caisr 
pares  it  to  a  steam-engine^  receiving  its  propelling  power  from  Pe* 
king^  and  communicating  it,  by  means  of  numerous  wheels^  to  all 
parts  of  the  empire.  No  new  regulation  interrupts  the  once-adc^ted 
course^  which  greatly  prevents  irregularity;  for^  age  after  age^  afiairs 
are  transacted  in  the  same  manner. 

'  "  As  all  principles  of  good  government  and  the  whole  code  of  virtue  are, 
according  to  Chinese  opinion^  contained  in  the  Classics,  it  is  indispensaUy 
necessary  for  every  one,  who  wishes  to  hold  any  public  station,  to  be  weU 
versed  in  these  writings.  The  government,  therefore,  from  the  time  of 
the  Tang  dynasty,  has  instituted  regular  examinations,  open  to  all  those 
who  wish  to  become  candidates  for  public  employments.  When  they  have 
studied  the  Classics  thoroughly,  and  are  able  to  give  satisfactory  answers 
to  the  questions  proposed,  they  are  admitted  to  the  lowest  degree  of  scho- 
larship—(sew-tsae) — from  whence  they  advance  to  the  rank  of  keu-jin; 
this  renders  them  eligible  for  officers  of  state.  Beyond  this,  there  are 
only  the  degrees  of  Tsin-sze  and  Han-lin.  The  emperor  appoints  literary 
examiners,  whose  sole  business  it  is  to  pronounce  impartially  their  judg- 
ment upon  the  essays  produced  at  the  examinations.  The  utmost  inte- 
grity is  required  from  those  who  are  invested  with  this  high  office ;  but 
nevertheless  a  great  deal  of  clandestine  management  is  carried  on,  both 
with  and  without  their  knowledge.  Offices  are  also  sold  to  the  best  bid- 
der, a  custom  highly  injurious  to  the  interests  of  a  country. 

'*  In  all  despotic  governments  in  Europe  we  have  a'  secret  police,  and  in 
China  there  exists  something  similar.  The  emperor  employs  his  inspect- 
ors to  pry  into  eveiy  man's  affairs,  and  to  report  according  to  what  they 
have  seen  or  heard.  Upon  the  greater  officers  of  government  some  person 
always  acts  as  spy,  in  the  capacity  of  a  clerk  or  aide-de-camp.  These 
men  communicate  freely  with  the  cabinet,  and  have  also  access  to  the 
imperial  presence." — vol.  i.  pp.  46, 47. 


Gutzlaff's  Histojy  of  China.  '  241 

TiuB  immense  engine  keeps  wonderfully  together,  which  argues 
Javourably  in  behalf  of  the  system^  as  connected  with  the  genius  of 
the  people.     But  they  are  in  a  lethargic  state,  and  easily  kept  in 
subjection  by  a  weak  government.     Their  soldiei7  are  no  doubt 
numerous,  the  nominal  army  amounting  to  more  than  a  million 
men,  besides  the  militia  and  Mongol  cavalry ;  but  they  have  little 
martial  courage,  and  for  the  most  part  are  married,  and  unwilling 
to  leave  their  homes.     They  are  also  held  in  low  estimation  com- 
pared with  the  civilians.     Their  principal  weapons  are  bows  and 
arrows,  though  they  have  clumsy  matchlocks,  guns  without  car- 
riages, and  many  other  kinds  which  are  not  generally  used.     The 
navy  again,  though  numbering  perhaps  one  thousand  sail,  is  a 
less  effM^tive  power.      Their  men-of-war  are  mere  junks,    and 
their  ignorance  of  naval  tactics  remarkable  ;   for,  although  the 
Chinese  believe  that  every  country  exists  only  as  their  compassion 
and  benevolence  suilers  it  to  do  so,  yet,  whenever  European  ships 
sail  along  the  coast,  the  terror  of  their  admirals  is  so  great  that 
the  squadrons  of  several  harbours  can  never  muster  as  much  courage 
as  to  encounter  a  single  ship. 

>    The  third  chapter  considers  the  characters,  usages,  industry,  lan- 
guage, sciences,  and  religion  of  the  Chinese.     In  most  of  these  de- 
partments they  are  much  debased.  Their  religious  indifference  is  re- 
markable.    The  Confucian  school  extends  not  their  views  beyond 
the  grave,  enjoining  the  worship  of  all  nature,  but  not  nature's  om- 
nipotent God.     This  is  the  orthodox  creed  of  the  state,  and  of 
scholars.     The  sect  of  Taou  are  gross  idolaters,  and  more  mystical 
in  their  tenets,  in  which  the  vestiges  of  adulterated  truth  may  be 
£xind.     A  third  order  of  superstition  has  been  imported  from  the 
Hindoos.     This  is  Buddhism,  the  followers  of  which  are  not  par- 
ticular as  to  the  objects  of  their  worship,  or  the  merits  of  other 
religious  creeds,  only  considering  their  own  the  best,  because  it 
teaches  the  best  method  to  pass  through  the  numerous  changes  of 
the  metempsychosis,  till  the  worshipper  arrives  at  the  consumma- 
tion of  bliss — ^annihilation.    There  are  also  Mahomedans  in  China, 
and  it  is  said  that  there  are  600,000  Roman  Catholic  Christians 
still  in  the  country ;  but  these  once  were  much  more  numerous.  The 
tluHight  that  so  many  miUions  of  the  human  race  are  thus  slaves 
to  the  most  debasing  paganism,  and  under  the  iron  rule  of  anti- 
quated custom,  is  cheerless  in  the  extreme.     But  commerce,  '^  which 
is  the  forerunner,  if  not  the  cause«  of  civilization,''  we  hope  and 
believe  is  about  to  carry  in  its  train  a  light  that  will  shed  the  most 
benign  influences  over  the  benighted  regions  of  China.  Infidels,  or 
persons  totally  destitute  of  any  portion  of  a  truly  Christian  spirit, 
are  to  be  found  in  Britain,  who,  ignorant  of  the  great  benefits 
which  they  have  reaped  from  Christianity  at  home,  would  endea- 
vour to  make  One  weep  at  the  thought  of  interfering  with  the  super- 
stition of  heathens,  though  that  interference  should  merely  consist 
in  appeals  to  the  intellect  and  the  heart.    But,  however  picturesque 
VOL.  III.  (1834.)  NO.  II.  s 


24^  GMizlajgTM  Higtmy  of  China. 

heathenism  may  be  rendered  in  description  by  unfiiir  representatioiis, 
it  will  ever  be  found,  when  the  whole  truth  is  told,  that  gross  super- 
stition dwells  only  in  the  dark  places  of  the  earth,  and  that  such 
places  are  full  of  immoral  practices  and  horrid  cruelties.  In  China 
a  diisregard  to  truth  in  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  life  is  a  descrip- 
tive feature  of  the  people,  and  every  one  knows  that  infiEuiticide  is 
carried  oii  to  an  enormous  extent.  What  a  revolution  would  the 
introduction  of  the  knowledge  of  Christianity,  and  obedience  to  its 
doctrines,  accomplish  amongst  these  hundreds  of  millions  of  our 
species  1 

A  great  part  of  the  remainder  of  these  volumes  is  occupied  with 
the  history,  ancient  and  modem,  of  the  dynasties  which  successively 
sat  upon  the  Chinese  throne,  arranged  by  the  author  not  as  the 
native  historians  have  done,  but  blended  with  the  annals  of  the 
western  world,  as  the  most  convenient  order  for  general  use.  Four 
eras  take  up  by  this  plan  the  entire  existence  of  the  nation,  which  is 
confessedly  very  ancient.  Even  as  a  civilized  people  their  annals  go 
back  to  tne  earliest  times, — a  civilization,  however,  which  by  the 
genius  of  their  institutions  has  been  quite  stationary  from  time  im- 
memorial. The  author  thinks  that  they  had,  for  instance,  a  notion 
of  astronomy  as  early  as  the  Chaldeans  and  Egyptians.  But  the 
accounts  of  their  antediluvian  existence,  as  given  by  their  historians, 
are  as  extravagant  and  unfounded  as  the  mythological  stories  of  the 
Hindoos  and  Greeks.  It  does  not  appear  indeed  that  much  that  is 
authentic  can  be  narrated  of  the  empire  previous  to  the  time  of 
Confucius,  550  B.  C. 

The  author  calls  the  £rst  of  the  four  eras,  into  which  he  divides 
the  history  of  China,  the  Mytkoloeiacdi^^xirsAoa  uncertain.  The 
second  era  embraoes  the  ancient  history  of  the  empire,  B.  C.  2207 
to  A.  D.  263.  The  third  era  takes  in  the  middle  ages  of  hislorlr, 
from  A«  D.  264  to  1367.  And  the  last,  modem  history,  from  A.  I^. 
1368  to  1833. 

.  The  present  emperor  succeeded  to  the  throne  in  1820;  and  the 
rules  instituted  for  mourning,  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  his 
predecessor,  not  only  show  the  formal  character  of  the  Chinese,  but 
the  dissimulation,  that  is  not  confined  to  any  one  region  of  the 
earth,  or  family  of  mankind  : — 

"  When  one  of  the  immaculate  sages  of  the  family  is  numbered  with 
those  who  are  departed,  the  succeeding  emperor  shall  be  the  chief  mourner ; 
he  shall  take  the  fringes  from  his  cap»  and  he  shall  lament  and  stamp  his 
feet  for  sorrow.  Tlie  empress,  and  all  the  ladies  of  inferior  rank  in  the 
palace  or  harem,  shall  pluck  away  their  ear-rings,  and  remove  every  orna- 
ment of  their  head-dress.  A  table  shall  be  spread  out  before  the  coffin, 
and  there  the  kings,  princes,  and  nobles,  shall  pour  out  libations.  The 
cinperor  who  succeeds  shall  put  on  mourning,  and  dishevel  his  plaited 
hair,  taking  up  his  abode  in  a  hovel  by  the  side,  of  the  corpse.  The  em- 
press»  concubines,  and  all  the  ladies  of  the  harem,  shall  cut  off  their  hair. 
The  emperor  shall  mourn  *  for  three  years,  and  during  the  first  hundred 
days  shall  cause  all  imperial  edicts  to  be  written  with  blue  ink  \  all  gorem- 


GuUlqf'3  History  of  China.  243 

mcnt  p&pers,  during  twenty-seven  days,  must  be  stamped  with  blue  ink. 
Dnring  a  hundred  days  the  Chinese  shall  desist  from  shaving  the  head, 
and  the  mandarins  shall  not  give  their  sons  and  daughters  in  marriage. 
•  All  my  people  should  be  dutiful  to  their  parents/  said  Taou-kwang, 
'  respectful  to  superiors,  ashamed  of  crime,  and  cherish  a  dread  of  punish- 
ment, to  aid  me  in  imitating  his  last  majesty,  who  shorwed  a  love  of  the 
lives  of  others,  such  as  Heaven  displays.  Now,  in  consequence  of  all  the 
kings,  TaKar  nobles^  great  statesmen,  civil  and  military  officers,  having 
said  with  one  voice.  Heaven's  throne  mast  not  be  long  nnoocupiedi  it  is 
incumbent,  that  by  the  consent  of  the  imperial  mimes,  and  the  gods  of  the 
land,  a  sovereign  do  early  assume  his  sway.  In  consequence  of  their 
again  remonstrating  vtrith  me,  I  forced  myself  to  yield  to  the  general  Voice, 
and  interrupting  my  keen  sorrows,  on  the  third  day  of  the  eighth  moon ; 
having  announced  the  circumstance  to  Heaven  and  earth,  and  to  the  manes 
of  my  hnperial  ancestors;  I  sat  down  on  the  imperial  throne.  Let  the 
next  year  be  the  first  of  Taou-kwang." — ^vol.  ii.  pp.  78 — 80. 

The  author  says,  that  monarchs  who  intend  to  send  an  ambas- 
sador U>  the  imperial  court  of  China  ought  to  inform  themselves 
tipon  the  ceremonial  which  these  personages  have  to  pass  and  to 
perform.  The  emperor  does  not  acknowledge  any  power  upon 
terms  of  equality.  It  is  put  down  as  a  law^  that  an  embassy  by 
land  shall  never  consist  of  more  than  one  hundred  personages, 
ti^enty  of  whom  only  are  allowed  to  repair  to  the  court,  whilst  the 
remainder  have  to  wait  on  the  frontiers.  An  embassy  sent  by  >fay 
of  the  sea  ought  only  to  consist  of  three  iressels,  with  a  hundbred 
men  in  each  of  them,  &c.  Would  it  not  be  advisable  to  convince 
his  Imperial  Majesty  that  there  are  powers  possessed  of  a  large  ex- 
tent of  territorv  and  numerous  subjects,  who  can  demand  a  proper 
treatment  for  their  representatives  ? 

On  the  subject  of  the  prc^agatioh  of  the  GoBpel  in  China  we 
have  die  following  information,  which  to  us  is  new :— - 

**  The  reviving  influence  of  the  Gospel  animated  the  hearts  of  the  apostles 
and  their  followers  to  penetrate  to  the  most  distaftt  parts  of  the  world. 
Their  love  for  their  fellow-men  was  unbounded,  rind  they  bore  all  hardships 
joyfiillf .  8t.  Thdfnas,  who  is  denominated  '  the  apostle  of  the  Hindoos 
andCfainesei^  in  the  epitome  of  the  Byrian  canofis,  trttversed  a  great  part 
of  western  Asia,  visited  India,  and  finally  reached  Kambalu,  which, 
aeeoiding  to  the  latest  researches,  is  th^  Khanbalik  of  the  l^rtars,  and 
tte  Peking  of  the  Chinese.  Having  built  a  church  here,  he  returned  to 
Meliapore,  on  the  coast  of  Koromandel,  where  being  very  saccessfiil  in 
the  oonverdon  of  the  infidels,  he  was  stoned  and  pierced  with  a  lance,  by 
the  eaviooi  Brahmins.  Though  the  foregoing  is  taken  ft'om  Syrian  tradi- 
tion only,  the  fact  is  corroborated  by  the  concurrent  teslamonies  of  the 
Chaldean  ritual,  which  concludes  with  the  following  sentenice :  '  By  the 
blessed  Thomas,  the  kingdom  of  heaven  was  extended  and  opened  to  the 
Qiinese/  The  Byrian  metropolitan  of  the  Malabar  coast  always  subscribed 
himself  the  metropolitan  of  All  Hindoostan  and  China.  Kwan-yuii- 
cfaang,  a  celebrated  Chinese  writer,  is  said  to  mention  the  birth  of  the 
^vkmr  in  the  Grotto,  exposed  to  all  the  winds ;  his  death ;  his  resurrec- 
ti<m ;  his  ascension,  and  the  impression  of  his  holy  feet.    Though  the 

s  2 


244  Gutzlaff  's  History  of  China. 

author  has  not  seen  his  work,  he  is  acquainted  with  the  Shin-seen-tang' 

keen,  a  history  of  all   religions   in  Chinese — where  Christianity  is  de^ 

'  tailed  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  no  douht  that  it  was  known  in  China 

■  long  before  the  entrance  of  the  Jesuits,  but  only  in  a  circumscribed  sphere, 

and  very  imperfectly." — vol.  ii.  pp.  101, 102. 

The  Nestorian  creed  is  said  to  have  been  propagated  in  China  at 
.  an  early  date  of  the  Christian  era,  and  it  is  well  known  that  the 
Roman  Catholics  have  for  a  long  time  been  at  great  pains  to  spread, 
by  means  of  their  missionaries,  their  views  of  religion,  though  of 
late,  as  it  seems,  with  little  success.  When  the  author  was  at 
'Fuh-choo,  in  1832,  he  received  several  applications  from  native 
'Christians,  who,  according  to  the  statement  of  the  mandarin  of  the 
district,  are  very  numerous.  They  are  generally  poor  and  ignorant 
people,  who,  if  they  can  afford  it,  wear  a  cross  round  their  neck. 
The  missionaries  have  supplied  them  with  crucifixes  and  pictures. 
They  possess  also  a  calendar,  which  points  out  to  them  the  festivals 
and  saints'-days  of  the  Romish  Church ;  but  beyond  this  their 
knowledge  does  not  extend.  The  author  says,  it  was  radier  sur- 
prising to  see  that  they  opposed  the  promulgation  of  the  pure  Gos- 
pel amongst  the  heathens,  whom  they  decried  as  an  ignorant,  for- 
saken race,  unworthy  of  so  great  a  gift. 

Protestantism  has  been  introduced  into  China,  and  had  a  small 
beginning,  whicb,  however,  promises  extensive  sway  ere  long  :— r 

"  When  the  churches  in  England,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, aroused  from  that  indiff^erence  with  which  they  had  hitherto  seen 
millions  of  their  fellow-creatures  dying  in  idolatry,  they  also  turned  their 
attention  towards  China.  The  choice  of  the  directors  of  the  London  Mis- 
sionary society  fell  upon  the  Rev,  (now  Dr.)  Morrison,  who  had  studied 
in  Hoxton  Academy,  with  a  view  to  the  ministry  at  home ;  but  being 
fully  convinced  of  the  deplorable  state  of  the  heathen  world,  he  was  willing 
to  go  to  any  quarter  of  the  globe  where  the  Gospel  was  not  yet  known. 
WiUi  this  view  he  entered  the  missionary  seminary  at  Gosport.  After 
having  obtained  a  Latin-Chinese  Dictionary,  and  '  the  Harmony  of  the 
Four  Gospels' in  Chinese,  from  the  British  Museum,  he  sailed,  in  1807, 
by  way  of.  America,  for  Canton,  accompanied  by  the  pftiyers  of  thoufiaads. 
He  landed  in  the  September  of  the  same  year  at  Macao,  and  created  a 
good  deal  of  suspicion  among  the  Romish  clergy.  In  Canton,  he  lived 
during  that  season  in  a  godown,  where  he  studied,  ate,  and  slept.  He  let 
bis  nails  grow,  that  they  might  b